Echoes Of Hell
by trickie08
Summary: As much as Dean wants to forget his time in the Pit, the memories keep coming to the forefront of his mind. While dealing with nightmares and flashbacks the Winchesters are being hunted...And she won't let Dean forget.Rated for violence/gore.
1. Chapter 1

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 1**

_He stood unmoving, his head bowed over the metal tray staring at the various implements. Slowly he reached out a trembling hand, picking up the straight razor. His green eyes watched the glint of the shining metal as he rotated his wrist examining the blade. Lowering his hand, he cast fearful glances around him, his heart pounding in his chest as he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He couldn't believe he was about to do this._

_He flinched as a loud clanking filled the room followed by a steady grinding whine. He looked up; the machine had been set in motion. His hand gripped the handle of the straight razor tightly, his body vibrating as the grinding came to a halt. His eyes blurred with unshed tears, as he waited for his victim to descend from the infinite darkness above. As she was lowered slowly into place, his gaze dropped to the floor. He refused to look into the terrified face before him. The guilt was almost too much to bear._

_The chink of metal on metal echoed through the room as the pins dropped into place; restraining his victim to the table. His stomach rolled violently as he took a shaky breath, his eyes locked on the razor in his hand. The smell of his victim's fear overpowered the stench of old blood and charred flesh that he had become all too familiar with. He sensed the other before he felt the hand clasp his shoulder. He stiffened, and waited._

_He could feel the heat of the man's breath as he whispered; could smell the stench of death in his stale breath. "Well, I guess its time to prove yourself," the man rasped into his ear._

_He felt the coolness as the hand left his shoulder; still he didn't move. He didn't look up as he awaited instructions._

_"Today, I think we'll do a little flay and fillet. What do you think son?" The other spoke silkily._

_He choked on a gasp, trying to maintain his disgust with himself. Sweat beaded on his forehead, as he raised his head, horror in his eyes, "I…I don't think…"He felt his stomach churn, he wasn't sure he could do this._

_The other man chuckled deep in his throat, "Come now, do you need me to show you? I would think you would be very familiar with this particular technique."_

_Scrubbing a hand across his stubbled face, he stepped forward towards the table. "__Flay…," he whispered._

_He ran the tip of a finger across the thin blade of the razor, watching as a line of blood rose to the surface. He raised his head to the body on the table, keeping his eyes away from the face. He couldn't look at the face. He could not bear the look of fear and accusation in their eyes. He inhaled deeply, and straightened his frame. He had no choice, this was better than the alternative._

_He walked to the end of the table, and stared at the foot in front of him. He carefully sliced into the skin. A blood-curdling scream came from the girl on the table as he slowly peeled back the flesh to exposing the blood and meat beneath._

Dean Winchester woke abruptly, a shout dying on his lips. His hands fisted in the motel blankets, the sheets drenched in sweat. He turned his head to the bed across from him; Sam's breathing was steady, as he snored lightly. Dean sat up, and buried his face in his hands, pushing the nightmarish memory from his mind.

Sam woke suddenly, the smell of fresh brewed coffee filling the room. He brushed a hand sleepily across his eyes peering at the illuminated clock resting on his nightstand. Raising himself up on one elbow, he looked over his shoulder; he could see a silhouette in the darkness, leaning against the counter.

"D'n?" he mumbled.

"Go back to sleep," Dean replied quietly.

"What are you doing up at twenty after two?" Sam watched the silhouette of his brother as he shifted, raising the mug to his mouth. "Dean?"

Dean lowered the mug, "I couldn't sleep."

Sam nodded, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. "And you think coffee is gonna help?"

"Yeah well. I figured I was up anyway."

Sam sat up, pushing the blankets away, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Sam. Just go back to sleep ok?"

Sam stood up, stretching as he walked across the room and turned on the light. Both men squinted as the light filled the room, chasing away the shadows.

"Dean," Sam began as his eyes adjusted to the light. "You look like crap."

Dean shrugged his shoulders, his gaze focused on the wall.

"You got to get some sleep," Sam pushed; Dean's face was gaunt and pale, the dark circles beneath his eyes standing out. His green eyes were dull, and he needed sleep. "C'mon, Dean. You haven't slept more than a few hours at a time in a week. You need to get some…"

"I'm fine," Dean cut him off.

"Hey, it's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp." Sam responded, unconsciously repeating words Dean had said to him a lifetime ago.

Sam moved to his bed, reaching underneath he pulled out his duffle. Dean watched him as he rummaged through the bag, "What are you looking for?"

Sam raised his head, pulling a small bottle from the bag, "Take one of these," he said striding across the room. "Bobby gave 'em to me."

"What the hell are they?" Dean took the bottle from Sam, reading the label. "Sleeping pills?"

"Yeah, I uh…"

"You want me to pop pills to sleep?" Dean asked incredulously. "What do you suppose would happen if I take them and we get attacked or something?"

"Dean," Sam sighed. "It's better than drinking yourself into a stupor…Besides you don't need to take them all the time. Actually it's best if you don't…We're done the job, and nothing is lined up…"

"So you want me doped up?"

"No, I want you to get one night of good sleep. One night without the nightmares waking you…"

Dean looked into Sam's hazel eyes, sensing his anxiety, "Sam, I don't need these."

"Yes you do. In the past week, you slept what ten, fifteen hours? In a whole week, Dean. It's not healthy."

"I'm not taking them," Dean slammed the bottle on the counter beside him.

"Fine, don't," Sam exclaimed in frustration. "But you have to do something. You can't keep going like this, you're going to collapse."

"Fine!" Dean hissed dumping his half mug of coffee down the sink. "If it'll shut you the hell up, I'll go to bed."

"You have to sleep…"

"Sam shut up! Damn it will you just shut the hell up." Dean stormed across the room dropping onto his bed. "Are you gonna turn the light off?" He growled glaring at his little brother.

Sam turned off the light, and got into his own bed, "Dean…"

"Sam," Dean spat angrily. "If you don't shut the hell up I swear…" Dean lay with his hands behind his head, staring at the darkness above him. He knew Sam was worried, and only wanted what he thought was best for him. Dean sighed, thinking about the previous hunt, anything to keep his mind from his dream. It was sometime before dawn when he finally slipped into a fitful sleep.

The woman sat on the tattered beige sofa, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Dust motes danced in the slash of afternoon light streaming through partially closed curtains. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she reached to pick up the bottle of whiskey, her other hand scooped up the handful of pills that lay on the glass coffee table. She crammed the pills into her mouth, chasing them down with the final dregs from the whiskey bottle. She ran a hand through her short brown hair; as she closed tear filled eyes, praying death would come quickly. Her eyes opened groggily as she heard the sounds reverberating through the hall.

Emily Cross got shakily to her feet as the demanding wails of her son called to her. Stumbling from the living room, she walked drunkenly down the hall. She bumped into the doorjamb as she turned to enter the nursery. With trembling hands, she picked up six-month-old Casper, his face red from his frantic screams.

Dazed she carried him across the hall, turning on the light as she entered the bathroom. Holding her whimpering son, she placed the plug in the tub, and turned on the taps. She tested the water with her elbow, and as the level rose, she lowered her son into the tepid water without removing his clothing. She stared in to the now calm, trusting face of her infant and let go, watching him sink to the bottom of the tub. Tiny hands flailed, and small bubbles surfaced as he gasped for air and took in water.

She caught a movement in the mirror above the sink. Raising her eyes, she saw a roiling cloud of black smoke on the ceiling. She watched the cloud as it moved towards her, surrounding her body. Timidly, she raised her hand, poking a finger into the dark cloud, a feeling of unease shuddered through her. The cloud spiralled around her, drawing closer as her eyes widened in fear. Emily gagged as the cloud forced itself into her body through her mouth and nose.

She blinked and gazed around the room, her obsidian eyes falling on the baby. She stepped forward quickly, and stooped down to pull the infant from the water. Kneeling on the floor, she laid the motionless child in front of her, and began blowing quick breaths into his lungs. She paused only long enough to use her fingers tips to compress his chest gently.

Casper coughed, spewing water from his mouth; she turned him to his side allowing the water to run freely from his little body. The child took a deep breath and wailed his displeasure. The woman smiled, her black eyes glistening in the light. Gently she picked him up and reached for a towel hung on the rack by the sink. She crooned softly to the child as she gently wrapped him in the towel and cradled him to her chest.

Getting to her feet, she held Casper in her arms as she left the bathroom and entered the hall. Accessing the memories of her hostess, she turned toward the kitchen. She looked around her as she entered; dirty dishes flooded the sink and spread across the counter. Pots with left over food sat on the stove, forgotten their contents hardened with age. She shook her head she walked to the fridge in search of a bottle, hoping the milk would be good.

Finding a prepared bottle, she sniffed the contents, satisfied; she placed the nipple against his lip. Casper hungrily latched on, staring into her face as he drank contentedly.

"Poor baby," she murmured softly. "Poor little Casper, it'll be alright," she assured him.

Holding the baby in one arm, she propped the bottle under her chin as she reached for the phone. Digging further into the memories of Emily Cross, she dialled and placed the receiver to her ear.

"Missy?" She said as the voice came over the line. "It's Em. Uh…Could you and Jerry take Casper for awhile?" She asked, making her voice tremor slightly for effect. She listened as the voice spoke, and then continued her pleas. "Joe left me, and I'm not handling it so well…..I don't think Casper is safe with me right now…"

She waited impatiently as Emily's sister responded, and then rolling her eyes, sobbed into the phone, "Because I just caught myself trying to drown him!" She further put herself into character, blubbering incoherently as Missy tried to calm her. A slow smile spread across her face, "You'll take him? Thank you so much…What? Yes I'll get help as soon as you take Cas, I promise."

Hanging up the phone she looked into Casper's tiny face, "Well little one," she sighed. "You're safe for now." She carried the child to the nursery changing him into dry clothes, and packing a bag for his stay with Emily's sister.

She stood in the window, watching as Missy's teal green Toyota backed from the drive. She turned away letting the drapes fall back, sending a gloomy darkness over the room. She inhaled deeply, her nose unconsciously scrunching as the stench clogged her nostrils. She raised an arm, turning her head to sniff; she abruptly pulled her head back.

"Damn," she whispered. "I don't think this chick has showered in a month."

She walked down the hall toward the bathroom, pulling of her clothes and dropping them on the floor as she went. Entering the bathroom, she pushed the door closed. Turning to the full-length mirror, she studied her new body. Her fingers lightly trailed over the stretch marks.

The body was thin, almost too thin, and she wondered exactly what Emily Cross had done to regain her slim figure so soon. She stroked the short brown hair, deciding the bob-cut appealed to the softly rounded features. Turning to the tub her eyes fell on the bottle of bubble bath resting on the edge, she smiled it had been a long time since she had pampered herself.

She filled the tub, while dumping a generous amount of the bottle's contents under the running water; she crawled in immersing herself completely in the luxurious sweet scented bubbles. She expelled a content sigh, feeling the tension of the host body evaporate in the soothing heat and vanilla scent. She closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the wall behind her.

She had so much she should be doing; soaking in the tub was not on her to do list. Yet instead of getting up, she sunk deeper into the bubbles. She had already cleansed the body of the pills and alcohol the woman had consumed. After she had changed Casper, she had left him in his crib and returned to the bathroom.

She had induced vomiting. Forcing most of the toxins from the body, but it was an experience she did not enjoy. The retching and straining had brought tears to her eyes. The acidic bile burned her throat, and left a bad taste that didn't seem to go away even after rinsing.

So many things up here she had forgotten about. Unfortunately, she wouldn't have time to experience the few things she did remember. It had been a long time since she had been topside, but the violence was still here, Emily was a prime example, mother trying to kill son. She slid further down, immersing her head beneath the water wetting her hair. Sitting up she shampooed, her mind still thinking of her work ahead.

She had a lot to do and very little time with which to do it; wasting time here wasn't going to help. Sighing, she stood, draping a towel around her body. She had to call someone to get Emily Cross the help she so desperately needed, but before that, she had some personal errands of her own. Chewing pensively on her lower lip, she strode to Emily's bedroom, to get dressed.

The room looked like a cyclone had run through it. Clothes were tossed carelessly about the room, the bedding hanging half on the bed and half on the floor. Housekeeping was not Emily's strong suit, the more she was learning about her the more angered she became. Stupid meat puppets, they were never satisfied with what they had, always looking for more. One day they will realize just what they had here, by then it would be too late, all would be lost to them.

She heard the doorbell chime as she was pulling a dark green tank top over her head, ignoring the chime she stepped into the faded denims. She ran her hands over her hips, revelling in the comfortable snug fit. Her smile faltered as the bell chimed again. With an annoyed hiss she left the bedroom and went to the front door, as she placed her hand on the doorknob the bell chimed again.

"All right I'm coming," she grumbled, swinging the door wide. Her eyes resumed the brown shade of her host, and widened in surprise when she spotted the two uniformed officers on the stoop.

"Can I help you?" she asked, plastering a friendly smile on her face.

"Mrs. Cross? I'm Officer Parker, and this is Officer Van Meekren." the young officer spoke, his pale grey eyes watching her alertly. "Your sister called us; she is concerned for your well being. Is everything okay?"

She raised a hand to her chest, a remorseful look on her face, "Oh, I'm fine, I'm sorry she called you out for this…"

Officer parker stepped closer to her, "I'm sorry ma'am, but I need you to come with us. Your sister made a serious accusation…"

She allowed tears to surface, "I know what this is about…and I won't deny it. But I am getting help. I had enough sense to call my sister…"

"We still need you to come to the station," Officer Van Meekren drew closer.

"I have some things I need to do first…"She didn't have time for this.

"We must insist."

Licking her lips, her eyes darted between the two men, "Very well. I have to finish getting dressed, please come in." She stepped back allowing them entry, quickly scanning the yard before closing the door. She smiled complacently, "I'll be just a moment."

Before either Officer had a chance to reply, she grabbed the large vase by the door and brought it down over Van Meekren's head. As he slipped soundlessly to the floor, she turned on Officer Parker, gripping his chin; she repeatedly slammed his head in to the wall until he too lost consciousness.

"So sorry officers," she smiled. "I have places to go, things to do." She quickly stepped over their bodies, and walked out the door, locking it behind her. She raked fingers through her hair in attempt to brush the wet mass. With a sigh, she walked from the yard and into the street.


	2. Chapter 2

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 2**

Dean sat his beer on the table. He glanced around the bar curiously before returning his gaze to Sam, "You got anything?"

Sam pulled his eyes from the computer screen, and picked up his beer taking a healthy swallow before answering. "Nothing…I got nothing, Dean. Everything seems quiet, too quiet…"

Dean's green eyes looked at him inquisitively, "No low level stuff? Vengeful spirits, zombies? Nothing?"

"Exactly. It's like everything supernatural has taken a vacation," Sam shrugged.

"Aw that can't be good…Can it?" The elder Winchester raked a hand through his short hair.

Sam watched his brother through cautious eyes, "We can stay another night…you know relax. We haven't checked out from the motel yet."

"Yeah…I guess," Dean said absently. "I'll get us another round."

Sam closed his laptop, keeping his eyes on his brother as he made his way through the crowded bar. He glanced down, as he shoved the laptop into the carry case, a smile touched his lips when he looked up. A voluptuous blonde had sidled up alongside Dean, pressing into him as other patrons pushed their way through to the bar.

He watched as the girl flirted unmercifully with his brother, her hand brushing against Dean at every opportunity. Dean flashed a winning smile at the girl, as he took the beer the bartender sat down. Shaking his head in amusement, the younger man watched the girl batting her eyes at the elder Winchester, licking her lips seductively. Dean never had troubles with the women that was for sure. Sam leaned back in his chair, seeing Dean coming towards him.

"I take it I'm on my own," Sam snorted when Dean handed him a bottle.

Dean looked at him blankly, "What are you talking about?"

"I saw the girl at the bar…"

"Oh her." The older sibling looked at the woman over his shoulder, then turned back to his brother, "I'm gonna hang here with you." Sam straightened, staring slack jawed at his sibling, Dean turned from his bemused stare. "Stop it!"

Sam shook his head, clearing the surprised concern from his mind. "Dean? You turned her down to hang with me? You're kidding, right?" Dean shrugged. Looking concerned Sam asked, "What's wrong?"

"Damn it, Sam. Why does everything have to have ulterior motives with you?"

The younger man's eyes widened in surprise. "Cause Dean, this is not like you…at all." Dean shrugged off his brother's concern and raised the bottle to his mouth.

Sam found himself watching Dean; the nightmares were affecting him more than he thought. The dark circles and pale, stress lined face weren't the only results of the elder's lack of sleep. He had been moody, snapping at every little thing, and now apparently his sex drive was taking a dive.

"Stop staring at me, Sam," Dean glowered, slamming his bottle on the table.

"Dean, we need to talk …"

"God Damn it," Dean shouted in exasperation. "I didn't frickin' know that it was a criminal offence to not want to get laid….Hell, you never do!"

Shoving a hand through his dark shaggy hair, Sam responded, "Yeah but that's me. You're a different story. I mean c'mon…if I suddenly started hitting on every woman we seen, you'd be concerned."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Finish your beer, we're leaving."

"What? But I thought…"

"We're leaving…I'm tired okay." Dean heaved a ragged breath, "I just want to pick up some beer, go back to the motel and relax in front of the tube…"

Sam nodded, downing the last of his beer he stood, picking up the laptop, "Okay, Dean."

The demon that was wearing Emily Cross stood under the streetlight. Leaning against the post, arms across her chest, she studied the motel across the road. She was sure this was the motel; she had done a lot of searching and asking the right questions to find it. The Impala they drove was not an inconspicuous or forgettable vehicle - but it wasn't here.

She plucked at her lower lip, scanning the area around her. Seeing no one, she stepped toward the motel. Hearing the deep rumble of an eight-cylinder motor she stopped, backing to her previous position. Peering down the road, she could see the vehicle approaching and had no doubt, as to who it would be. She ducked in to the shadow of the hedges behind her, keeping her eyes on the vintage car pulling into the motel parking lot.

The lights and motor cut out, then she stepped forward again, keeping her eyes trained on the young men in the car. The streetlight directly above exposed her in its harsh glare. With a smug smile, she snapped her fingers, the light flickered and went out, leaving her secluded in darkness.

The boys exited the car, locking their doors, before walking to their motel room, a case of beer in Dean's hands. Smiling coldly, she watched them enter the room, furthest away from the office. She rotated her shoulders and neck feeling relief as the stiff joints popped. Her eyes becoming black, she moved forward. She had them, all she had to do was walk right in, neither showed any signs that they felt her presence - she had the upper hand.

A hand fell on her shoulder when she entered the parking lot, turning she saw a dark-haired man. His blue eyes stared at her knowingly. The demon trailed her eyes down his body; noting the beige trench coat over a dark blue business suit. She returned her gaze to his face, sensing the being inside the man.

"You," she said with a sneer.

"What are you doing here?" He asked crisply.

She walked her fingers up his chest, "That is none of your business."

Pulling away as her fingers stroked his jaw, he grasped her wrist in his hand. "You will leave, now. You know who I am and what I can do."

She snatched her hand back, "The way I see it, Castiel, you owe me."

The only reaction on his stoic face was a slight rise of an eyebrow, "I owe you? How has it come to pass that I owe you?"

The dark entity glared at him. "When you came for Dean…he was still worth saving. You had better believe that was no easy feat. They had him on the fast track."

"You want me to believe that you had something to do with that?" His eyes fixed on her in disbelief, "What have you come here for?"

"Payback's a bitch and she's in heat." She replied coldly.

"If you leave now, I will not destroy you…Consider my obligation fulfilled."

She snorted, spreading her arms wide, "Go ahead…Smite me!"

"Don't tempt me." Castiel stared at the demon. "I will do what is necessary."

"Yeah, yeah whatever," she bit out dropping her arms to her side. "Just keep this in mind Mr. Holier-than-thou; I don't fear you or any of the rest of your little choir. You and your God can kiss my ass!" With that, she spun on her heel and crossed the road, walking away from the motel.

Castiel watched her leave, puzzling over what she had said. He knew demons lied, but sometimes they spoke the truth. The angel didn't know much about what Dean had gone through in Hell, he only had the basic picture, tortured becoming the torturer. He wondered and not for the first time, what had happened to Dean in the pit. With a final glance in the direction the demon went, he took his leave. However, he intended to keep his eyes on Dean, in case she came back.

She could still feel the Angel's presence and knew he hadn't gone far. Muttering angrily to herself, she turned to walk away. It would have been easier to just _jump_ the distance to Emily's home, but she had used enough demonic powers while in this body, much more would burn it out. She had no intention of leaving behind a corpse; her time in this borrowed body was limited.

She raised her eyes to the midnight blue sky above, her breath catching at the beauty of the stars twinkling brightly. It had been too long since she last crawled from the pit - too long since she had seen the beauty of the world humankind took for granted.

"Damn Angels," she growled as she continued to walk. There had to be a change in strategy; Castiel had seen the skin she wore. He would be watching the Winchesters closely, waiting for her next move. He wouldn't be alone next time either; the bloodthirsty Uriel would be at his side. A hex bag would keep her under the Angels' radar, but she required a new suit, one the Angel wouldn't suspect. She had to find a place for Emily to get help and she had to move on.

With a sigh, she changed direction, walking to the one place that would guarantee Emily got the help she needed, no matter how much she protested. Approaching the building, she paused for a moment before walking into the police station.

Sam straightened pulling his tired eyes away from the glare of the computer screen. Yawning, he glanced at his watch, 11:45. Pushing himself back, he tipped the chrome legged chair trying to see his brother in the khaki green armchair in front of the TV. Sam's eyes softened and a smile graced his face at the site of his sibling's sleeping form. Dean was slouched in the armchair, his chin tipped to his chest, snoring softly, a half-empty bottle of beer clutched in his hand. All the tension was gone from his face as he slept peacefully, his bottom lip pushed out in an unconscious pout.

Sam quietly lowered the front legs of the chair to the floor, as he gazed at his brother, relieved to see him resting peacefully. Sam knew from the position his brother was in; Dean would wake lame and cramped in the morning. Still he was hesitant about waking the slumbering Winchester. Rising from his chair, he moved silently across the room, grabbing the bedspread from the bed nearest the door. He returned to the chair that held his snoring brother and gently pried the bottle from Dean's fingers.

Again, Sam thought about waking him, but pushed the thought from his mind. He knew it would take his older sibling a long time to return to his slumber, if he did at all. Spreading the blanket over the sleeping man, he gently tucked the edges around him.

"G'night, Dean," he whispered softly, before turning to dump the remnants of the bottle into the sink.

Stifling a yawn the young hunter turned off the light and padded softly to his own bed. He flinched as the springs creaked beneath his weight, holding his breath, he waited for his brother to stir. Sam smiled to himself when there was no movement from the chair, and settled into his bed, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

_He stood in front of his table, meticulously arranging the tools in his preferred order. The polished metal gleamed in the orange glow of the burning flames as he inspected each instrument, wiping away smudges, and testing sharpness. His eyes sparkled as he hummed _Enter Sandman _quietly to himself. Satisfied, he _

_stepped back from the table, licking his lips in anticipation when the clanging motor shifted into gear._

_He quickly wiped the rack in front of him with an old rag, stuffing it into his back pocket when finished. He paused, something felt familiar about the simple action, his hand rested on the rag. He chewed his lower lip, trying to catch the memory that hinted around the edges of his mind. Shrugging off the feeling of deja vu, he watched his latest victim descending to his table. He strapped the woman down, arms and legs spread, in a star-like shape._

"_Hey Dean." He heard the call from across the room. "How's it going? Ready to start the day?"_

_Looking up, the former hunter grinned. "Damn straight," he called back enthusiastically. _

_He reached for the scalpel, his favourite tool to begin the day with, and stepped forward. Abruptly, he halted his movements, waiting for the pleas for compassion that he had come to relish over the past five years. The condemned soul remained silent. His brow furrowed, and he drew closer to the woman, curiously, staring into her face. _

_Her eyes were a light brown - almost amber in color, strawberry blonde curls spread out around her head like a halo._

"_You've nothing to say?" he grunted, holding the scalpel within her line of vision. She glared at him defiantly, her lips pressed in a tight line. Dean studied her face, surprised at the lack of fear in her eyes. With a menacing smile, he nodded, "That's fine…we'll start out slow then," he winked. "Let you work up to it."_

_He set to work, painstakingly cutting and peeling the skin in thin even pieces, whistling cheerfully. He smiled smugly as the skin pulled back in equal strips. Not one strip broke too soon or ripped into a wide wedge. He had Ol' Al beat today for sure. Dean smirked smugly, thinking of the friendly competition they had running. He glanced at the girl as he worked; her screams filled him with a sense of pride of a job well done. However, not once did she beg or plead with him to stop. _

_Stepping back, the tormentor looked at the tools laid before him, scratching his head with a blood-covered hand - she would beg, one way or another. Dean thoroughly enjoyed the heady sense of power that he felt when his victims begged and pleaded with him, asking - no praying to him - for compassion. Not that he ever gave in to them, but he loved the feeling. _

"_Problems over there, Dean?" he heard Alastair call out._

"_No, I guess not," he replied sheepishly. How would he win the bet if he couldn't even get this young girl to beg?_

_He heard Alastair toss his tool on to the metal tray, and start towards him. Shaking his head, Dean reached for another of the wide selection of tools, something would make her cave. He needed to hear her beg him to stop; beg him to end her suffering. _

_Alastair stepped over to Dean's table, inspecting the bloodied mass of muscle and tissue. His eyes trailed to the girl's face, the only discernible features visible in the blood and missing skin, were her amber eyes. "My, my." he crowed. "I never thought I'd see you in my offices again. What did you do this time?"_

_Chuckling the demon turned to Dean. "She'll be a tough one, boy. It'll be interesting to see how or IF you'll break her." He clapped Dean on the back before walking away._

_Dean was briefly puzzled by Alastair's familiarity with the girl, but pushed his questions away as he thought to his own time on the racks. The memories of that time were still vivid in his mind. In fact, if he closed his eyes he'd be able to feel the excruciating pain he had endured. He had the vague feeling there was something before the racks, but the images stayed just out of reach taunting him with glimpses he didn't understand._

_An ominous smile formed on his face, as he remembered a particular technique that had nearly driven him over the edge. He looked around the room, searching for the device that had at one time turned his veins to ice. He found it against the far wall. The wooden apparatus was large and had a wheeled base. Hoping he had found what would break the girl, Dean whistled as he jaunted across the room to obtain his new toy._

_He pulled the apparatus to his station, his eyes dancing in excitement, he had never used the Intestinal Crank before and was looking forward to the results. The wooden post stood around seven feet high, near the top was a metal rod attached to cogs and a hand crank. The rod had a clamp at the end, that opened when pressure was applied the end, similar to that of a clothespin. _

_Looking into the stubborn soul's eyes, Dean smiled coldly. "This is gonna be fun." He took a knife from his tool tray, then cut a deep incision into her abdomen. Thrusting his fingers into the opening, he sighed contentedly, her screams echoed through the room. After digging around her insides longer than necessary he extracted part of her intestines, stretching to the rod, the young persecutor clamped the end of the intestine in place._

"_You ready for this?" he whispered. He felt a brief surge of delight as terror registered in her eyes. Returning to the crank handle, he slowly turned the rod, watching as the intestines were pulled from her body, twisting around the clamped end. She screamed and he laughed…_

"Nooo!" Dean screamed stiffening and pushing back with his legs. The chair he sat in wobbled precariously on two legs as he threw his weight back, then toppled over, spilling Dean to the floor.

He barely took the time to regain his bearings before jumping up and rushing for the bathroom. Falling to his knees Dean raised the toilet lid, crossing his arms over the bowel the young hunter rested his head on them as he retched. Gasping, for air, he continued heaving long after the contents of his stomach had emptied.

He flinched as a cool hand touched his shoulder, unable to look back, at the younger man Dean groaned. "Dean," Sam whispered, his throat constricted as he watched his brother suffering.

Dean managed to raise his head, offering a faint smile, "Something I ate…Don't worry about it. Go back to bed." Crouching beside his older brother Sam gently rubbed Dean's back, as another bout of dry heaves overcame the older man.


	3. Chapter 3

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 3**

Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as _Burn Bitch Burn _blasted through the speakers. Sam sat shotgun, studying the map in his hand. Casting a sidelong glance at his brother, an impish grin on his face Dean asked, "Where'd you say we were going?"

Sam sighed rolling his eyes, "White County, Arkansas…"

Feigning a puzzled expression Dean tried to look pensive. "No…No that's not it…I think you need to be more specific."

"No, I'm not saying it again, Dean," the younger man stated firmly.

"Aww, c'mon, Sam. Why not?"

"Because you're immature," Sam shot back, unable to suppress a smile. He was enjoying the banter, Dean's foul mood seemed to have finally lifted, and he was getting back to his old self. Passing a fleeting glance at the older Winchester, Sam was relieved to see the dark smudges beneath his eyes had lightened a fair degree. Dean had managed to get in five hours sleep that night, before the nightmares sent him running for the bathroom. Albeit it was in an armchair, which had caused Dean a sore neck and stiff back, but still, it was sleep.

"What's the name of the town?" Dean asked again, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched the road ahead.

"Dude, stop! I'm not saying it." Sam maintained with an inward groan.

"Don't you remember?" the older hunter asked, with a chuckle. "How are we gonna find it if we don't know…"

"Fine…Bald Knob!" Sam blurted out.

Dean started laughing, "Awesome, Bald Knob…"

"Okay are you done?" the youngest Winchester groused, starting to chuckle himself. "You really got to get this under control before we get there."

"C'mon Dude, Bald Knob…Seriously, they have to have a sense of humour to live in a town with that name." Dean couldn't help but laugh; it was one of the best town names ever.

"Dean, c'mon. We have to focus here. You can't be cracking up every time you hear it."

"Hear what?"

Sam huffed in exasperation, "What we were just talking about? Bald Knob." As soon as the name left his mouth and Dean started to laugh, the younger hunter knew he had been set up. He shook his head, "Really Dean, it must be getting old by now."

The oldest Winchester continued to laugh. "Not when you say it. You look like you're sucking on a lemon every time you say it…It's hysterical."

"I do not," Sam retorted, good-naturedly.

"Yeah you do," Dean snickered.

"Dean…"

"Okay, okay. Tell me about the case."

Sam reached down and picked up the newspaper resting at his feet. He opened to the page he had marked and read, "Okay," he glanced at Dean summarizing the article. "Three kids go to the local cemetery, only two come back. They thought their friend was pulling a prank on them, but he hasn't been seen since. That was four days ago." He folded the paper and laid it on his lap, "The police are saying runaway, but the kid's family and friends say he was happy. According to them he had no reason to runaway."

Dean looked over in uncertainty, "Maybe the cops are right, maybe there was stuff going on with this kid that no one knows about."

Sam nodded, "That's what I thought at first…But in the past year, at least three other people have disappeared. The last place they were seen was around the same cemetery…" He glanced at the paper again. "Shady Grove Cemetery."

Dean kept his eyes on the road, "The cops didn't think that was suspicious?"

"Well…uh…The thing is the other three that disappeared…Well, two were vagrants and the third was a kid that had been recently taken into foster care. So the cops say the kid ran away, and that the vagrants just moved on."

Dean shot a disparaging look at his brother, "Two vagrants and two runaways? Seriously, Sam. What makes you think this is our thing? The cops are probably right."

"I don't know," Sam sighed. "We've gone on the road for less…"

Dean shrugged in agreement, "True enough. Okay…So how far to Bald Knob?" he asked, with a crooked grin.

She hovered within the shadows, as her gaseous form dispersed then unified in the light breeze. She hated the feel and struggled to keep herself whole. _C'mon girl, pull yourself together._ She thought wryly. If she had lips, she would have smiled. She now understood why the meat puppets were so important to the lower demons like her. She didn't have the power to bring her corporeal body to a reality, only the higher-level demons were capable of that. Yet they still preferred to hide behind the mask of the human cattle, concealing their true image.

After she entered the police station, she merely had to tell them what Emily had done, including her assault on the officers. They took no time getting her evaluated and into a psych hospital, and when the opportunity arose he vacated the body. Now she was floating through alleys and out buildings, occasionally taking to the ground as necessary. Travelling beneath the surface was her preferred method, away from the wind and curious glances. However, she couldn't catch his familiar scent while travelling sewers and tunnels.

Even without a physical body, she could smell him, the titillating aroma of his damaged soul wafting through the breeze. She chortled to herself, as she changed direction, following the Winchesters, planning their demise.

Sam walked up the steps of the white, two-story, clapboard house, stopping at the door he rang the bell. He moved back when the door opened and an elderly woman peered up at him. Her grey hair was swept back from her face in a bun; blue-grey eyes gazing at him merrily.

"Hi," Sam smiled at her. "The guy at the gas station said you might have a room to let for the night."

"Oh yes," she nodded. "Come in. Come in." She stepped aside to allow him entry, "My you are a tall one."

Sam smiled sheepishly, "Uh, my brother is in the car…"

"Well bring him in," the innkeeper gushed. "Have you boys been driving all day? You must be starved…here it is suppertime."

Turning towards the car, he waved to his brother. Dean exited the car, pocketing his keys he joined his brother on the steps.

"Oh my," she exclaimed. "You're a tall one too. Well, lets get you boys inside and sitting down before I strain my neck looking up at you." The elderly woman turned, walking into the house.

The young hunters exchanged amused looks and followed her through the foyer. She paused in front of a swinging door where they could hear distinct tapping sounds resonating. Smiling up at them, she held the door open for them to enter.

"Go right in, make yourselves comfortable." She motioned to the wooden table in the centre of the kitchen, then followed behind them as they entered.

"Damn it, Nana. That's it!" a girl's voice growled out. "You're getting a self defrosting fridge."

They turned to find the fridge pulled out from the wall, a young woman clad in faded jeans and a pale blue tee shirt, was chipping at the mountain of ice over the freezer door. She turned to face them, a chisel and hammer in her hand. "Oh, I didn't realize there was company," she muttered in embarrassment, quickly laying down the tools and smoothing her hand over her copper hair.

"We have guests," the older woman said cheerfully. "Isn't that wonderful, Kimbee?"

"It's terrific," she answered pleasantly, running her eyes over the men in front of her, she then held out her hand. "I'm Kimberly."

"Hi, I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean," he replied, taking her hand in his.

"These boys are probably hungry." The older woman said as she cheerfully donned her apron.

Kimberly released Sam's hand, and nodded at Dean before turning to her grandmother, "Well, as long as they don't want anything from the freezer." She laughed, pointing at the ice.

"Well, I'll just reheat the stew," the older woman stated, walking to the ice chest on the counter.

"Oh we couldn't ask you to do that. You weren't expecting us." Sam spoke up. "We just really appreciate the room, Mrs…" Sam paused, realizing he didn't know her name.

"Call me Nana," she supplied happily. "Everyone does." She pulled a large covered container from the cooler, and headed for the stove. She quickly dumped the stew from the container into a pot and set the burner on low. "Would either of you boys care for some tea or coffee?" She asked as she filled the kettle.

As Nana busied herself about the kitchen, she motioned for the boys to take a seat at the table. She chatted amicably as she gathered mugs from the cupboard. "Where are you boys from?"

"Lafayette," Dean replied, saying the first name that came to mind as he sat in the wooden chair.

Kimberly slid in the chair across from Dean as Sam took his place next to his brother.

A feeling of unease overcame the youngest Winchester as he caught Kimberly's penetrating gaze. He fought the urge to squirm in his seat, as her dark brown eyes seemed to bore into him.

He almost sighed audibly when the older woman distracted her, "Kimbee, could you grab the rolls while I serve the stew?" Nana shook her head; sometimes Kimberly was too pushy and suspicious. She'd never get herself a good man if she were always interrogating them. She smiled apologetically at the boys before setting the stew in front of them, then sat down.

Kimberly placed the plate of homemade rolls on the table and reclaimed her seat next to her grandmother. "So…" she began snatching up a roll. "What brings you to Bald Knob? It isn't exactly tourist season."

Sam caught the gleam in Dean's eyes and quickly kicked his leg under the table before answering Kimberly's question, "Well, we were just passing through. It seems like a real nice town so we thought we'd stay a bit."

Dean shot a glare at Sam and moved his leg from his reach. "I read about that boy in the paper," he said to Kimberly as he buttered a warm roll.

Kimberly leaned back, eyeing them suspiciously, "Is that so?"

"Did I say something wrong?" Dean looked quizzically at Sam.

"Every so often one of you blows through town, stirring up a lot of crap. Quite frankly, we don't need it," the young woman replied coolly.

"I'm sorry," Sam interjected. "One of who?"

"You," she rolled her eyes. "Ghost hunters, ghost trackers. Paranormal investigators. What ever you want to call yourselves." She narrowed her brown eyes, a scowl marring her features. "You people come here, talking about ghosts, saying you'll rid us of some spirit or other. But nothing is ever resolved."

"You think a ghost is behind the disappearance?" Dean asked, trying to act surprised.

"No, but you people seem to, and thanks to you popping up every couple years so does a third of the town." She forcefully, pushed her chair back from the table, "I got to get ready for work." Kimberly turned to the older woman, "Leave the fridge, Nana. I'll deal with it when I get home." She pecked her on the cheek and left the room.

The young hunters cast uneasy glances at each other as Kimberly stormed from the room leaving them with Nana. "Oh don't let her bother you, dear." Nana smiled, "She always had a thing for dramatics. Are you boys here about the missing people?" She tilted her head inquisitively.

Dean cleared his throat and cast a furtive glance at the kitchen door before answering, "People? I thought it was one boy." Casting a subtle glance at his brother the older hunter returned his attention to the woman across from them.

"Oh heavens, that's just the most recent. There must've been twenty or more that have gone missing from Bald Knob Lake Road over the past…oh...thirty years it must be now." Nana's eyes lit up at the prospect of having a chance to tell her story. Since Kimberly had taken the night shift, the evenings had been quiet and lonely. The Berkley boy usually came around nine, but what teenage boy wanted to hear the ramblings of an old woman?

"That many?" Sam queried, "Does anyone know what happened? Has anyone been found you know somewhere else?"

Nana rubbed her hands together, "I think this calls for something a little stronger than coffee. Let's go to the den." She stood from the table, picking up her dirty dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. The brothers stood, placed their own dishes into the dishwasher before following the elderly woman to the den.

The boys entered the den, a sofa sat against the wall across from the door it was grey plush velvet with a dusty rose flower print, two matching armchairs flanked either side. A mini bar was set up to the right of the entryway.

The young hunters sat down exchanging apprehensive glances while they waited for the older woman to join them. She stood at the bar, her back to them pouring drinks into three glasses.

"Well I hope Jack Daniels is okay." Nana crossed the room, their drinks on the tray she carried. "It was my Henry's favourite drink…,"she murmured with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Dean nodded his approval taking a glass, he leaned back into the chair. Sam picked a glass up off the tray and with a brief glance at the amber liquid; he set it on the polished coffee table in front of him.

"Nana?" They heard Kimberly call.

"In here, dear." Nana set her glass of whiskey on the table next to her, sliding it behind the lamp. She gave a conspiratorial wink to the boys and stood to face her granddaughter as she entered the room.

"I'm heading out now," Kimberly said. Looking pointedly at the men she added, "Ryan will be here at nine." Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat and nudged Dean with his knee.

Dean turned his head to look at the woman and felt his heart plummet to his feet. Kimberly leaned against the doorjamb, her copper hair pulled into a pony tale. Her arms were crossed over her crisp police uniform, as she spoke to the elder woman.

"Don't be gossiping and getting things stirred up," Kimberly huffed.

"No ma'am," Sam said, shaking his head for emphasis.

She looked at him, a cool professional smile on her face, "I was talking to Nana, but yeah it goes for you too." Directing a dark glare at the men in front of her, the young officer decided that she'd check in frequently, leaving her grandmother alone with them gave her an uneasy feeling.

"Kimberly Ann Richards!" Nana gasped, hands on her robust hips. "That is enough. We are all adults here and we can talk about whatever we choose."

"Fine, talk about what you want," Kimberly shrugged, glowering at the young hunters, "But it better stay in here. I don't need anymore crap going on out there. My hands are full already." With a final scowl, she left.

"Wow, she's a cop." Dean said, turning to see if Sam realized the importance of the situation. The FBI wanted them - so did police in several states, renting a room from a cop was hardly the smartest move.

"Oh don't let her get under your skin," Nana waved a hand at them. "She's just tired. Been run off her feet since the latest disappearance." She smiled brightly at them, "Now, where were we?" Sitting back in the armchair she retrieved her drink from its hiding place. She looked at Sam and Dean and cleared her throat before speaking. "Are you what Kimbee says you are? Are you some kind of ghost hunter?"

Sam looked to his brother, unsure of how to answer, Dean shrugged, "I guess we're amateurs, Ma'am."

"Call me Nana," she insisted once again.

Dean scratched his neck, and looked at the woman, "Okay…Nana…," he grinned a bit. "We have an interest in unexplained cases. And well, we weren't really sure if this was one of them."

Nana nodded, "I see, and what would you do with the information if it turned out to be one of your…unexplained cases?"

Sam could sense the woman's loyalty, and knew she wouldn't want the publicity of a haunted town, "It's more for our own interest, Ma…Nana. We wouldn't go public with it," he reassured her.

She smiled, and gazed at the photograph of a man standing in the door of the house that hung above the sofa. "That's my Henry." She said softly. "He was a good man; he took care of his family. Family meant everything to him…" She returned her gaze to the young men. "He's been gone almost thirty years now."

Sam nodded, with a sympathetic smile, "What happened?"

"He was coming home from helping a friend, and for some reason he parked the car, and got out…He was never seen again," the elderly woman sighed. "You would think after all this time I'd be over it. But…" she searched their faces for understanding. "Maybe it's because I never knew for sure what happened. People said he probably just took off, abandoned his family. I know my husband, he wouldn't do that…" She got up and went to the bar, coming back with the whiskey bottle. She refilled her glass and held it out to Dean. He topped off his own glass and set the bottle on the coffee table, where Sam's drink still sat untouched.

"I was twenty when we married," Nana reminisced fondly. "I had twenty five good years with him. Our family was all but grown and gone from the nest. After twenty-five years you really get to know a person, if he was unhappy I would've known." Pausing, she took drink, her blue-grey eyes moist with tears. "He was the second man to go missing. Since then men and boys have randomly gone missing. No rhyme or reason. Sometimes cars are left; doors open as if they just stepped out. Like my Henry…"

"This was near Shady Grove Cemetery?" Sam questioned, gently.

Her sudden bray of laughter startled the young hunters and they looked at her in confusion. She placed a hand against her chest, and waved at them with the other. After several seconds she stopped laughing, a smile still on her face, she wiped the moisture from her eyes. "I'm sorry," she chuckled again. "All the papers make it seem that it's the cemetery. People - tourists, come every once and awhile to see the haunted cemetery."

She drifted through the sky, using the soft evening breeze to her advantage. Once the sun had gone down, she was obscured by the darkness of night, no longer needing to hide. She already knew why the hunters were here, but was unsure what she was going to do about it.

A sound below caught her attention and she dropped to the surface, swirling into the mist that was surrounding the young man. When the mist gathered, she felt the presence. _A shimmer, _she thought, immediately losing interest. She started back up to the wide expanse of the night sky, pausing barely a foot from the ground. Maybe this was the Shimmer the Winchesters were looking for.

Without further thought she shot toward the teen while the mist began to take form. The boy's eyes were wide with terror, the ghostly form grabbed him roughly. Quickly, she forced herself into the meat suit, turning her ominous gaze onto the ghost. It didn't take much to send the Shimmer on its way. She just gave him a small taste of what she was capable of, and once it realized that its existence was in jeopardy, it moved on.

She smiled darkly, all she had to do now was wait. Once Dean caught wind of the missing man-child he and his brother would come running. This would be her chance to see what he could do here. She was all too familiar with his abilities in hell, but here he was a different man. It might not be that hard to take him out.

She tugged at her bottom lip, walking into the stand of trees where she would wait for the Calvary.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Once she had gotten through the tale of her husband, Nana perked up. There was nothing she loved more than a good yarn; especially one she knew was based in truth. She leaned forward in her chair, making sure she had the full attention of the young men. "About five years ago, a group of Paranormal Investigators came to confirm or debunk the stories. They set up a bunch of cameras and other strange equipment over at Shady Grove Cemetery, even though we told them the stories were false." She paused for dramatic effect.

Dropping her voice to a loud whisper, the old woman continued, "Travis Whitehall was assigned to keep an eye on them, you know, make sure things didn't get out of hand. By the time the sun rose the next day the investigators had nothing, and Travis had disappeared right under their noses." Nana paused, rubbing a hand across her weary face. "There was a big deal over that one. The first time there was an honest to goodness, thorough investigation…"

"Why? What was so special about Travis Whitehall? Why did he warrant a full investigation when the others didn't?" Dean asked, leaning forward to refill his glass.

"Travis was a police officer for starters, but even so, the investigation would have died off sooner…if he hadn't been Kimberly's fiancé. She became obsessed with his case. Even when they finally filed it away as unsolved, she spent her off hours looking for leads. Now, she takes each missing persons case personally." She shook her head sadly. "Travis was the last for three years, and then it started again. Just in the past six months alone three boys have gone missing, four if you count Tony Misner - he was the most recent."

"Did they have anything in common?" Sam asked, bracing his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.

"They were all male, and they were last seen in the vicinity of Bald Knob Lake Road. Those who had been driving apparently left their vehicles, usually with the doors open, making it look like they up and walked away," Kimberly replied icily. She stood just outside the door, listening to the conversation, her anger growing at the casual mention of Travis' disappearance. "I thought I told you not to go stirring that crap up, Nana."

The trio raised their heads, surprised to find Kimberly standing there glaring at them. She slowly stepped into the room, taking the glass of whiskey from the older woman. With an annoyed shake of her head, she downed the neat spirit in a single gulp.

"I'm seventy four years old," Nana said briskly. "If I want to share old stories and town gossip, I damn well will!" She snatched the glass from the younger woman's hand. "And if I want a snort or two, I guess I'll do that as well. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I was out on patrol, and I noticed Ryan's car wasn't in the yard. He hasn't been here?" Kimberly asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

The older woman became concerned. "No, I haven't seen him. Have you called his place? What time is it?" She glanced at the wall clock, answering her own question. "My goodness, it's after ten. He's never late."

Kimberly patted her grandmother's arm. "He probably had car trouble again. Don't worry until there's cause," she assured the woman in the armchair as she deftly snagged the cell phone from the case on her belt. Rapidly pressing Ryan's number into the keypad, she held the phone to her ear and waited impatiently for the other party to pick up.

"I'm sure everything is fine…" Sam reassured the older woman.

Nana raised fear-filled eyes to his face. "Ryan is such a good boy…" She fell silent as Kimberly began to speak into the phone.

"Margi? It's Kimberly, is Ryan there?…No, he hasn't got here yet…oh…Jen Drake?…No, no…there's nothing to concern yourself over, I know the route he would take…Uh huh…I'll have him call you right away." Kimberly hung up the phone and ran her hand along her ponytail. Ryan would have travelled Bald Knob Lake Road. Lake Road, to the locals. A feeling of apprehension settled over her, and she found herself hoping that Ryan's old car had merely conked out again, preferably not on Lake Road.

Dean studied the police officer's emotionless face, watching her eyes intently. He caught the brief flash of worry in her brown orbs. Glancing at his brother, he gave Sam a subtle nod before turning back to face the young cop, "You going out to look for him?"

Kimberly nodded. "Yeah, I am. He was going to take his girlfriend home, then come here. Most likely the car broke down." She pulled her keys from her pocket and flashed a reassuring smile at the older woman.

Dean stood, setting his glass on the coffee table. "I'll come with you."

Kimberly shook her head. "I don't think so…"

"Look, you think his car broke down?" Dean cut her off. "I know a thing or two about cars; maybe I could help him out." He smiled amicably.

"You can't take him with you!" Nana exclaimed. "To get to the Drakes you have to pass through Lake Road. It wouldn't be right…" She knew Kimberly didn't believe the stories, but the girl wasn't aware of the part her own grandfather had played. Nana knew deep in her heart that Henry was gone, and that it was in revenge for what he and the other men had done that night so many years ago. Now, because of their overzealousness, the young men wouldn't be safe on Lake Road.

Sam laid a soothing hand on the elder woman's arm, "It's okay, we'll be careful."

Nana pressed her fingers briefly to her trembling lips, tears shimmering in her wide eyes. "Kimberly, you can't really be thinking…"

Kimberly sighed. "You boys are civilians, and I'm not taking you out on police duty."

Dean shrugged cockily. "We can come with you or follow you. Either way we're coming."

Kimberly glared angrily at the men, every part of her screaming to leave them behind. But then again, she reasoned, it would be easier to keep an eye on them if she agreed. The last thing she needed was a couple out-of-towners getting lost. She clenched her jaw as she looked back and forth between the men and Nana. Finally she sighed in defeat. "Fine. I don't have time to argue, you can follow. Just stay out of the way." She headed towards the door then paused, glancing back as the men began to follow. "Try to keep up…," she added.

Dean kept his eyes on the taillights in front of them as he held the steering wheel in a vice-like grip. They had been following Kimberly's squad car for a little over five minutes, and she showed no signs of slowing. Several times, he had almost lost sight of the taillights as she sped down the country road. She wasn't kidding when she told him he would need to try to keep up.

The road was dark; the only lights came from the two speeding cars. The young woman leading the way had the advantage of being in familiar territory, she knew when the curves and turn offs were coming. Meanwhile, Dean had to brake more times than he cared to count as each new twist loomed before them.

"Dean!" Sam suddenly shouted, his fingers gripping the dashboard.

Dean realized that the squad car had abruptly slowed and was coming to a halt. He stomped hard on the brake pedal, twisting the wheel to veer away from the car in front of him. The tires screamed and the reek of burnt rubber filled the classic Chevy. Sam braced himself as the car began to fishtail, barely able to keep from bumping into the door or his brother.

Dean took a deep breath as the Impala came to a stop. He stared out the windshield, heart pounding in his chest. "Christ," he gasped. He slammed the gearshift into park, and looked at his brother. "That woman is freakin' crazy." He swiped an arm over his sweaty brow and angrily pushed the door open. Cop or not, the crazy bitch was going to get a piece of his mind.

"Hey," Kimberly called to him. "You can't just leave your car in the middle of the road."

Dean stared at her incredulously. Was she serious? He had damn near rear-ended her crapheap of a car with his baby because she didn't have the sense to give warning before she stopped, and now she was worried about his car being in the street. She was lucky he'd reacted as fast as he had, otherwise both vehicles would have been in a twisted heap in the road.

"You deaf?" the cop snapped. "I said move your car."

Dean gritted his teeth; it was all he could do to keep his temper in line. He heard the familiar rumble as the Impala roared to life. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Sam steer the car to the side of the road, before turning back to the police officer. Anger burning through his veins, he swiftly covered the distance between them, stopping mere inches from her face.

His green eyes flashed angrily as he tightened his fists at his side. "Are you out of your ever lovin' mind?" he demanded raking a hand through his short hair. "Do you realize I could've hit you? Why the hell would you stop like that? No warning, nothing. Do you have a death wish?" Dean glared at her, waiting for an apology.

Kimberly gazed at him with indifference. Shifting her weight from side to side, she crossed her arms and waited for him to finish his rant. When he finally paused for breath, she took the opportunity to speak. "I figured brake lights were a pretty good warning. It's what most people use nowadays." She saw Dean's eyes darken in rage, and held up her hand as he moved to speak. "We don't have time for this foolishness. If you have a problem with me, file an official report at the station."

She knew it was a mistake letting them tag along. The man couldn't even drive for God sake. Any driver worth his weight would have enough sense to watch the brake lights on the car ahead. Yet here he stood, screaming at her as if it was her fault he was a moron. She ducked her head to hide the smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Dean waved a finger in her face. "You have got to be the craziest…"

"Dean," Sam exclaimed, coming to stand next to them. He grabbed his older brother's hand and pushed it away from Kimberly. "Focus. The Impala is fine, calm down."

Dean clenched his jaw as he glared at the Officer. His anger reached the boiling point when he saw the faint smile on her face. "Fine," he snapped, shrugging Sam's hand off as he turned to scan the area around them. He spotted the Honda Civic parked a few feet from the police car, and realized why Kimberly had stopped so quickly.

He walked over to the small car, noticing that the door was open and the hood was propped up. Everything seemed to be pointing to car trouble. Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flashlight, directing the beam into the abandoned car. Nothing looked out of place and there was no sign of a struggle. He sighed as he turned playing the small beam of light across the ground. There was no evidence of a struggle outside the car either. The dirt on the shoulder was undisturbed, and other than the car, there were no signs that Ryan had even been there.

"I'll go turn on the spotlight," Kimberly offered. "You two stay here. Don't move." She hurried to the car, the feeling of apprehension growing into full fear. Ryan's car was here, just like the others. She pulled the spotlight from the interior of the squad car and set it on the roof, fighting to keep her emotions under control. She couldn't lose another one; too many had already gone missing from her town. From Lake Road, her beat - she couldn't help but feel responsible.

"Do you see anything, Dean?" Sam whispered stepping to his brother's side, trying to peer into the darkness.

Dean shook his head and shone the light into the small stand of trees just off the road. "Maybe he went down there?"

"Could one of you give me a hand here?" Kimberly called. "The damn light won't work."

"Sam, go give her a hand," Dean muttered. There was no way he was going to help her. The freakin' psycho would probably electrocute him and then say it was his fault. He turned back to face the woods. "I'm gonna look around." Dean eyed the trees speculatively, putting himself in the mind of the perpetrator. If he were taking people off the street, that's where he'd go, he mused silently. It was secluded and dark, a good place to hide.

"Wait, Dean." Sam whispered, casting a cautious glance at the dense woods. Something didn't feel right. The shadows seemed to move, almost as if they were beckoning him. "I'll be right back. Don't go in there alone." Dean scowled but agreed to wait, focussing his attention back on the Honda. He leaned into the open driver's side door, moving the flashlight across the interior.

Using the vehicle as a cover, Dean discreetly pulled his EMF reader from his pocket and switched it on. He knelt on the front seat facing the back, so he'd be able to scan the full interior without getting into the rear of the car. Not a sound emitted from the device, the lights didn't so much as flicker. Frustrated with the results, he backed from the Honda, tapping the EMF meter on his leg. He had no idea what they were up against, hell they didn't even know for sure if this Ryan kid was missing. There were too many unknowns in this gig.

Dean glanced behind him at his brother and Kimberly. Seeing that they were still busy with the spotlight, he took advantage of the cop's distraction and turned in a slow circle, holding the scanner in front of him but keeping close so it wouldn't draw any unwanted attention. The device remained silent. "Damn it," Dean muttered to himself as he shoved the EMF meter back into his jacket.

He could hear the faint murmur as Sam and Kimberly struggled with the spotlight. Shrugging his shoulders, he took a step forward to offer his assistance. The familiar shrill whine of the EMF caused him to stop in mid-step. He pulled the device from his pocket, his heart quickening, he slowly turned around, his eyes focused on the row of lights.

Every light glowed brightly and the device squealed as he came to a halt facing the stand of trees. He looked over his shoulder as the spotlight finally sprang into brilliance. "Sam," he called. "Salt rounds."

Sam raised his head, and without questioning the older hunter, he rushed to the Impala and popped the trunk. He grabbed both shotguns and several salt filled shells. Ignoring the open-mouthed stare of the woman, he hurried to Dean's side and handed him a shotgun. He held his own sawed-off in one hand as he scanned the wooded area in front of them. The EMF detector continued its high-pitched whine and Sam shot a quick glance in Kimberly's direction. There was no way she couldn't hear that. "Did you see anything?" Sam questioned.

"Not yet…but something is there." Dean glanced at Sam. "Get her to shine that light towards the trees."

Sam turned to yell to Kimberly, his face growing pale when he found himself staring at the business end of her pistol. He quickly raised his free hand in a placating gesture while slowly lowering the shotgun at the same time, careful to make no moves that could be conceived as a threat to the clearly nervous cop. Keeping the weapon's muzzle trained towards the ground, he managed to nudge Dean with his shoulder. Dean turned scowling. His gaze flicked from Sam to the cop, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw her service revolver trained on his brother. On reflex, he began to raise his own weapon, but stopped as the woman turned the gun on him.

"Drop the weapon!" Kimberly shouted, dividing her attention between the two men. _The guys at the station would have a field day with this, _she thought bitterly. She couldn't believe she had been stupid enough to allow them to come along. Now she was on a dark, barely travelled road with two armed strangers she knew nothing about. It was hard enough being the only woman on the force, but to make a stupid mistake like this just added fuel to an already blazing fire. She'd never live it down, if she even survived.

Dean dropped his arm, not releasing his hold on the gun but pointing it at the ground. "Easy…," he said calmly, holding his empty hand up, palm facing her. "Let's not do anything crazy here." He looked at his brother then back to the Officer. They should've known better, he silently berated himself. Hell they came out here with a cop. What made him think they could whip out their guns and not have her react?

"Who the hell are you?" Kimberly demanded. Her finger rested lightly on the trigger as she struggled to appear calm. Her heart pounded against her chest and she could feel the sweat as it trailed along her spine. "What are you doing with shotguns?"

She watched the two men exchange a subtle look, the shorter one shrugged and nodded at the other. A movement caught her eye, and she looked past them. A mist was approaching from the trees, swirling and gathering into a solid mass. Kimberly blinked several times, unable to process what she was seeing. Raising a shaky hand to her face, she swiped at her eyes, but still the mist gathered. She paled as the mist took the shape of a man. He was tall, and lanky in stature, standing at least a foot taller than Dean. His bald head swivelled back and forth as he drank in the sight of the two unsuspecting men, his ice blue eyes filled with an evil glint.

"Oh my God!" Kimberly breathed. She aimed her pistol at the mist-man, drawing back the hammer.

Dean slowly turned his head to look behind them. "Crap," he muttered, drawing Sam's attention away from the cop. Both men faced the ghost, levelling their weapons at the spirit. A sudden force slammed into them, throwing both hunters to the ground. Their shotguns were torn from their hands and skittered across the asphalt, landing just out of reach.

Dean scrambled to his feet, his gaze darting between the spirit and the shotguns. The ghostly figure rapidly glided forward, its eyes glaring hungrily at the two hunters as it swooped down to grab the elder Winchester by the throat. Its lips pulled back, forming a menacing smile as drool ran from the corner of its mouth. Tightening its huge hand, the apparition lifted the struggling man effortlessly off the ground, bringing him close to its face as it leered in triumph. His legs kicking futilely, Dean reared back, gagging at the rank smell of decay wafting from the spirit. "Dude," Dean sniffed, trying to turn his head away. "You need a breath mint." He gasped as the ghost's grip tightened slightly, but thankfully still not enough to completely cut off his air. "I think I got some in the car…Just let me go get them." Dean flashed a cocky smile as the ghost snarled at him.

Sam hauled himself upright, throwing a glance to where the ghost held his brother suspended in the air like a rag doll, before quickly scanning the ground around him. Seeing one of the shotguns a few feet away he inched his way towards it, cringing when he heard Dean's smart-ass comments. Leave it to Dean to provoke the thing that had him in a death grip.

Kimberly stepped forward and dropped to one knee, attempting to steady the pistol with both hands. "Police," she yelled. "Release him and put your hands up!" There was no reaction from the apparition. "I repeat, release the man and put your hands up."

Dean rolled his eyes. Just great, he was being choked to death by this Neanderthal, and she was following procedures. He tore his gaze from the gruesome face and searched desperately for his brother. "Sam," he choked out as the ghost gripped him tighter.

Sam lunged for the nearest shotgun as Kimberly fired on the apparition. Much to the cop's horror, the three shots from the service revolver sliced through the sprit with no visible effect. Dean still dangled helplessly from one meaty fist, his face slowly turning red as he fought for air. Kimberly trembled in shock - she was an excellent shot, there was no way she could have missed. Swallowing hard, she pulled herself together and aimed for the bald head. She squeezed the trigger, and watched as the bullet passed through and hit the ground behind it. God, what the hell was that thing? She lowered her weapon, looking around frantically. There had to be some way to stop it.

Sam swung around, prepared to fire the shotgun. He quickly moved his finger from the trigger, when he realized that Dean was between him and the ghost, rapidly searching for a better angle. In two quick strides he was beside Kimberly, and satisfied with the position, he squeezed the trigger. The spirit wavered and separated briefly, dropping Dean to the ground. Reforming almost immediately, it glared at the younger Winchester. Sam quickly fired again, and the ghost dissipated before the salt round hit him. Sam reached into his jacket, pulling out more shells. He loaded the shells into the shotgun as he watched the area around his brother.

Dean crawled back to his feet, turning to look at his sibling, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach when he spotted the white mist coalescing directly behind the younger hunter. Sam returned the look, his fingers reloading the shotgun, completely unaware of his danger. Dean opened his mouth to warn his little brother, but the ghost had Sam by the throat before the words made it from his mouth. It wrenched the shotgun from Sam's hands, and with an angry howl, threw the weapon into the group of trees.

The spectre looked at the shotgun that lay between Dean and Kimberly. He raised his arm and the weapon flew from the ground and into his hand. A menacing smile spread across his features as he flung the second shotgun into the woods. Sam gasped, trying to pry the cold fingers from his neck, tears stinging his eyes as he struggled to draw a breath.

Dean reached for the gun in the waistband, thanking whoever was watching over them that he still had the magazine loaded with iron rounds. His only thought was to get the bastard to release Sam before his larynx was crushed. He flipped off the safety and fired, aiming for the spectre's head. As the bullet found its mark, the ghost wavered slightly, but held together. Glaring angrily at the elder hunter, it flung Sam to the ground and disappeared.

Dean felt a rush of displaced air behind him and spun around to face the advancing spirit. He raised his gun, his finger squeezing the trigger, but the shot went wide of its intended mark as he staggered, pushed off-balance by the vengeful ghost. Fighting to keep on his feet, he felt an unseen grip fasten around his throat and drag him forward. Icy fingers dug into his flesh, cutting off his air.

The spirit suddenly moaned as if in pain, its grip on Dean's neck loosening rapidly as the moan built into an ear-splitting wail. Dean fell to the ground as the ghost staggered backwards, a look of terror in its eyes. The hunter rubbed a hand over his throat as he watched the ghost pulsate, becoming transparent, then solid and back to transparent again. A pain filled scream echoed through the night sky as the spirit flickered, unholy flames surrounding its writhing form. It raised its hands as it looked to the skies, the screams becoming shrill as the flames licked hungrily over the spirit. As suddenly as they began the screams stopped and the spirit exploded in the ethereal flames. The flames disappeared, and silence hung heavily in the air.

Dean got shakily to his feet, looking at the patch of singed grass before spinning to face his brother. "What the hell just happened?" He demanded, glaring accusingly at Sam.

"I have no idea," Sam replied, staring in dazed confusion at the spot where the spirit had been destroyed. "I think it's gone…" He didn't look at his brother, failing to see Dean's distrustful glare and angry scowl.

"What the hell? What is going on?" Kimberly asked, her voice rising slightly. "What was that? I could've sworn…" She stopped, dropping her eyes to the ground. Swallowing hard, she tried to wrap her mind around what she'd just witnessed. It couldn't be, she decided. She was dreaming - she had to be, and in a few moments she'd wake up in her big comfortable bed and laugh it off as some stupid nightmare brought on by too much stress and too many late night meals. None of this ever happened - in fact the young men in front of her probably didn't exist either.

With one last quick glance at his brother, Dean pushed down his suspicions and hurried to the young woman. He could see her swaying slightly, and could hear the panic in her voice. Gently taking her by the shoulders, he led her back to the squad car. Sam quickly followed and opened the passenger door for them. They helped her onto the seat before pushing her head towards her knees, talking softly to her while she slowly calmed down.

"My God," Kimberly whispered, raising her head. "Wha…who…" She shuddered violently as she stared out into the night.

Sam removed his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, "It's okay," he soothed.

"Okay?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "I think I just had some kind of breakdown here. Jesus, I could've sworn that was…" She trailed off, pulling Sam's jacket tighter around her.

Dean looked over and met Sam's eyes, the same thought running through their minds. Kimberly obviously knew who the spirit was. Dean wanted to ask her, press her to tell them whom they had just been up against. He rested his gaze on the shivering woman and reluctantly changed his mind; he doubted she would be able to tell them much right now. Dean backed away from the car, motioning for Sam to follow.

"I'm gonna see if I can find the shotguns. Stay here with her; see if you can get her to talk." Dean shifted his gaze to the trees.

"Do you think she really knows who that was?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure she does."

Stepping back to the squad car, Dean grabbed the spotlight, turning it on its swivel base so the light was directed at the trees. He looked inside the vehicle, spotting a flashlight clipped to the dashboard. Reaching in through the open window on the driver's side, he plucked it from its clip, shot one last wary glance at his brother and headed for the woods.

Dean hurried to the stand of trees; his speed was more for his need to get away from Sam than to retrieve their weapons. He hated what he was thinking, but try as hard as he might, he could come up with no other reasonable explanation. _Ghosts don't just vanish_, he reminded himself grimly. _Well yeah, they vanish, but they don't self-destruct. _

The spirit was destroyed in flames, and they hadn't done anything to bring that on. At least, he hadn't done anything, he corrected. He wished he could say the same about his brother. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, his anger building. It was bad enough that Sam had done this, used his power to vanquish a spirit. But to stand there acting innocent after the fact, like he thought Dean was too stupid to realize what had happened. Dean kicked at a rock on the ground, watching it sail through the grass. Sam said he wouldn't do it any more. Yet, as soon as the going got a little tough, he pulled out his freaky bag of tricks.

He clicked on the police issue flashlight as he walked past the reach of the spotlight. Keeping the light trained on the ground, he searched for the shotguns as he replayed the scene in his mind. He wanted to be able to explain away the destruction of the spirit. To chalk it up to something besides his brother, but each thought led him to the obvious conclusion. Sam used his power, and it was because of him. If the spirit hadn't gone after the older Winchester, Sam wouldn't have done it, he wouldn't have broken the promise.

Dean caught the glint as the light reflected off the barrel of one of the sawed-offs. He played the light around the area as he picked up the shotgun, hoping the other would be close by. Moving deeper in to small forest, he kept the beam trained on the ground.

* * *

She stood in the shadows of the trees, her eyes tracking his every move. She could sense his ire coming off him in waves, and she smiled, stepping further back into the shadows as he approached her position. Pulling speculatively at her lower lip, she watched him stoop down to pick up his weapon.

She had watched the lowly creature as it played with them, tossing them around like rag dolls and she'd had to stifle her laughter. Then the stupid Shimmer had started playing a little rough and had obvious intentions of killing Dean Winchester. She had immediately stepped up to the plate. There was no way she was going to let an insignificant Shimmer take what was rightfully hers. Dean would die, but at her hands, and he would suffer first. Oh, he would suffer, she would make sure of that.

What she hadn't expected was Dean's reaction. The way he looked at his brother, suspicion burning in his eyes. It was more than she could have hoped for, the anger and accusations steadily driving a wedge between the boys. Even low-level demons knew that the Winchesters were nothing when not together. Oh, they could take out a few demons, especially if Sam chose to use his power, but they were stronger together. Apart and alone, they were vulnerable.

She was almost giddy in her excitement. Soon she would set her plan into action and confront Dean, but not in this meat suit. Glancing down at the body, she curled the borrowed lips in disgust. This Ryan character, what a putz. With a final glance at Dean, she silently slipped from the host and let him fall to the ground with a thud. She knew the sound would catch the young hunter's attention and he would come to investigate. Satisfied that her recent meat puppet would be found and taken care of, she rose into the night sky.

Dean spun on his heels as he heard a dull thud and rustle of dead leaves. Something had fallen to the ground. He crept silently toward the sound, the sawed-off in his right hand. Pointing the flashlight at the forest floor, he tensed when the beam showed a dusty boot.

He ducked and pushed through the low hanging branches, the light landing on the face of a boy. The kid was about sixteen or seventeen. His face was pale, eyes closed as if in slumber, purplish bruises beginning to mar his skin. Dean knelt next to the boy, placing his fingers on the carotid artery in search of a pulse.

Feeling the steady throb beneath his fingertips, Dean smiled his relief. "You must be Ryan." Quickly examining the boy for injuries, Dean blew out a sigh when he found none and sat back on his heels.

Standing, Dean leaned the shotguns against a tree and was about to scoop the boy into a firefighter's carry when the kid let out a soft moan. Stooping down, Dean watched the boy's face. Ryan's eyelids fluttered and his mouth twitched into a grimace of pain.

"Hey," Dean spoke softly. The boy moaned a little louder, blinking up at Dean in confusion. "Are you Ryan?" Dean asked.

Ryan nodded stiffly, a hiss escaping his pursed lips as the movement sent a shot of pain through his head.

"Do you think you can walk?" Dean asked hopefully.

Ryan tentatively sat up, holding his head. He swallowed and looked at the man in front of him. "I think so," he whispered. His eyes suddenly widened in fear as he frantically looked around. "Where's the guy who grabbed me?"

"Don't worry; he's been taken care of. Now let's get back to the road, Kimberly will be glad to see you I imagine." Dean helped the teen to his feet before bending to pick up the shotguns.

"Kimberly?" The boy asked. "Oh, Officer Richards."

Dean nodded and put his arm around the boy, offering his support for the walk from the woods. "You ready?" He waited for Ryan to nod, and they started for the road.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N Thanks to everyone who has been reading I hope you are enjoying the story thus far. This chapter has a mild torture scene I just wanted to warn ya..._

**Chapter 5**

Dean unlocked the motel room door and entered the dreary, musty smelling room. The faded floral wallpaper was peeling in strips; a small folding card table was set up in the centre of the room, presumably to serve as the dining table. A two cup coffee perk and several small packets of coffee sat on the grimy yellow Formica countertop.

Dropping his keys onto the table, Dean rubbed a tired hand across his face. Sam followed him into the room, his laptop case and both duffle bags slung over his shoulder. The younger Winchester looked longingly at the bathroom, wanting only to shower and crawl into bed. He dropped the bags on the bed furthest from the door, and glanced cautiously at his brother.

Sam couldn't figure it out. He thought that Dean would be happy that the hunt was over, but instead he seemed on edge, angry. Shoving a hand through his dark hair, Sam sat on the edge of the bed, mulling over the events of the evening. When Dean had gone in search of the shotguns, Sam had managed to get Kimberly to talk. She had told him about an old legend in the area, known only by the locals who spoke about it in hushed tonesand never leaked it to outsiders.

Over thirty years ago, before she had been born, people in the town had begun to vanish. Their bodies had been found weeks later with parts missing, sometimes an organ and other times limbs. At the time, the police failed to turn up any leads, and their investigation had come to a stand still. The people had their suspicions, and as the bodies accumulated, so did their fears.

There had been rumours about the caretaker at the Shady Grove Cemetery - talk that he was insane. Every man or woman who had met him would claim that he looked at him or her as if they were his next meal. There were even a few accounts where the people had seen him salivate as he stared at them, pure hunger in his eyes. People began whispering that he was a cannibal and speculated that he had eaten the corpses after they were laid to rest - digging them up for his personal buffet. The man's name was Mitchell Carver, but the locals started to call him The Carver, in hushed tones.

Soon the people had begun to cremate their dead, becoming concerned that loved ones were being pulled from their graves to be eaten by the madman. With fewer bodies being buried, the missing persons and murder rate had subsequently increased. The police were unable to find the murderer. There was no evidence to lead them to the perpetrator, and the people of the town began to panic.

One night a teen boy had gone missing while walking home along Bald Knob Lake Road. The son of a very prominent family, and captain of his school foot ball team, he was loved by everyone in the town for his work within the community and his giving heart. That night he had been to the home of an elderly woman, tending to her yard. His mutilated body had been found the next morning.

That was when the men of the town took things into their own hands. Late that night, they donned masks before going to the caretaker's home. They forced him into the woods, and he never came out. It was said that he was buried beneath the trees.

Sometime after that the rumours began. Locals claimed to have seen a large bald man coming from the woods across from the Shady Grove Cemetery, and people started to go missing again. Kimberly's grandfather had been one of the first to go missing.

When Dean had returned with the boy, Sam had told him about the story and they'd returned to the woods, EMF meter in hand. They had wandered around for more than an hour searching for the remains, before finally giving up. Sam was sure that whatever had happened to the ghost of Mitchell Carver, he wasn't coming back and Dean reluctantly agreed.

It was after three in the morning when they had pulled into Nana's Inn and found Kimberly waiting for them. After quickly updating them on Ryan, who was spending the night in the local clinic, she led the Winchesters to a room with two single beds and wished them goodnight. The hunters had quickly cleaned up, trying not to disturb the matronly owner, and dropped into their beds.

Dean had woken him just as the sun was starting to rise. They had quickly packed their belongings, and after a quick breakfast at Nana's insistence had hit the road. Dean wanted to put the town behind them and forget about the hunt.

Sam yawned as he pulled himself back to the present. Dean was leaning against the counter, his feet crossed at the ankles. The black circles beneath his eyes had returned and his mood was dark and brooding.

_"_I don't get it," Dean said softly, turning his gaze on his brother. "What happened back there last night?"

Sam stood up, rubbing his stiff shoulder. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Dean shot back, his voice low and hard, fear gnawing in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Sam drew back, bewildered at the anger and distrust in his brother's face. He couldn't figure out why Dean would be reacting this way. The more he saw the suspicion and accusation in Dean's eyes the angrier he became. He hadn't done anything to warrant this kind of treatment, and he was tired of trying to force Dean to open up to him.

"I mean I have no damn idea," Sam replied, keeping his voice calm and steady. "Why would I know, Dean?"

"Are you telling me you didn't….You know." Dean held his hand out, wiggling his fingers.

"Is that what you think?" Sam growled. Everything was falling into place now. Dean still didn't trust him, and still thought Sam was keeping secrets and lying.

"Well, did you?" Dean pressed, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"No I didn't," Sam snapped. "Why is it when something weird happens in our favour, you automatically assume it was me? It never used to be like this, Dean." Sam sighed heavily and sat back on the bed, "I never had to prove myself to you day in and day out," he added sadly.

"Well, it's not like you haven't lied about it before," Dean snapped in reply, anger bubbling to the surface.

Sam shook his head. "How long are you going to hold that over me? How long do I have to wait before you put a little trust in me again?"

Dean quirked an eyebrow, wanting so much to believe his baby brother. He wished they could go back to the time before he went to Hell, back when things were still good between them. When he trusted Sam with everything he had. "So you didn't…"

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. "No I didn't! Damn it, Dean." Sam lowered his voice as he looked at his big brother, the hurt he felt reflecting in his hazel eyes. "I can't do this anymore. I can't convince you, and you won't believe me anyway." He stood up from the bed, grabbed his duffle and headed for the bathroom. Once inside he slammed the door and slumped against the sink, feeling as if his heart had been ripped from his chest.

Dean pressed his palms against his eyes, and sighed. Dropping his hands, he turned to the coffee perk. Desperately trying to find some comfort in the familiar motions, he filled the carafe, poured the water into the perk reservoir, and dumped the contents of a coffee packet into the filter. Turning on the appliance, he raised his eyes to the window over the sink. The afternoon sun streamed through the grimy glass, casting a warm glow over the room.

_Who is Sam?_ Dean stiffened, trying to push the memory away; still he kept hearing the soft voice in his ear. _C'mon, we're friends…talk to me._

Dean turned, reaching a shaky hand to the chair, and gripped the back of it to steady himself. Images flashed through his mind, the smell of blood filling his senses. He could hear the cries and screams; could feel the sticky wetness of blood on his hands.

"Oh God," Dean moaned, trying to push past the flashes in his mind, trying to stay focussed on the room in the present. Again, the images crashed into him, refusing to be ignored. Dean grabbed his head with both hands as he backed away. Feeling the counter behind him, he slowly slid to the floor.

"No," he whispered. Tears stung his eyes as he fought to keep the memory at bay. He couldn't go there, he couldn't relive what he had done. Slowly began to rock, tears of shame flowed freely down his horrified face.

* * *

_Whistling softly, he strapped the woman to the rack, still feeling the rush from the screams of the previous soul. He really enjoyed the rack that he had recently obtained. The rectangular frame supported rollers installed on both ends. A winch attached to one of the rollers separated the frame as it was cranked._

_The soul's feet and wrists were bound to each end, and their body would be stretched with each crank. If he chose, he could tear the limbs from the torso, but he preferred to torment between each stretch first. Nothing could beat the feeling of blood oozing onto his fingers as he cut into the flesh._

_Dean walked to the head of the rack, looking down at the woman's face, his eyes lighting up as they trailed over her long brown hair. Elated, he returned to his tool tray, picking up the contraption he had created. It resembled a fishing reel, with a clamp on the base that held it stationary when fastened to the edge of a table, or rack._

_He recalled Alastair's enthusiastic crow of praise and the pride in his eyes when Dean had showed it to him and demonstrated how it worked. He smiled; pleased he had a chance to use it again. It would only work on hair long enough to be wound into the reel. _

_Dean attached the reel to the rack near her head, careful to keep it from the sections that separated so as not to hamper the proper workings when he chose to stretch the woman. The doomed soul's eyes were closed and she held herself rigid, waiting for the torture to begin. He remembered the wait while on the racks. Sometimes the wait was a torture in itself._

_He grinned as he looked at her, fingering her soft brown hair. "Time to have some fun," he murmured._

_Her eyes flew open and locked on his face. The terror began to fade from her features as recognition took its place. "Dean?" She breathed. "Oh thank God, it's you."_

_He stared into her face, surprised and confused by her statement. Studying her with a fixed intensity, he tried to think of how she might know him, and why she would be relieved. Hundreds, if not thousands of souls had been privy to his handiwork over the past five and a half years, but her face sparked no recognition in him. _

_His cold, green eyes returned to her hair, a sickening smile on his face as he leaned down. "No God here," he breathed into her ear. Straightening up, he lightly fingered her hair, then smoothed out a small section. He placed the ends of the strands into the reel, eyes glittering with excitement. _

_Dean began to turn the reel, watching as the golden brown strands wrapped around the spindle and pulled taut. He applied more pressure to the crank, smiling triumphantly as the roots pulled tight. With a final crank, the hair pulled free, tearing a chunk the size of a quarter from her scalp. She screamed in agony, her hands balling into tight fists._

_Dean inhaled deeply, "Mmmm…Better than sex." He pulled the hair from the reel, and gathered another section. _

"_Dean, please…" she cried. "Why are you doing this?" She looked tearfully into his face. Dean stared down at her, exhilarated, as she continued her pleas. "Please…stop Dean. Please…" She paused, searching the face she once knew. The features were the same, but his eyes were cold, and soulless. She swallowed back her pain, trying to reach out to him. "Dean…What would Sam think if he saw you like this?"_

_Dean paused, his throat tightening at the mention of the name. An image flashed in his mind, a boy holding out the toy from a cereal box, puppy dog eyes looking into his very soul. Then a man, unruly chestnut hair spilling over his eyes, the same puppy dog look. Dean shook his head, trying to push the memory from his mind._

"_It would just kill Sam to know what you've become," she continued, seeing his face pale and a flicker of uncertainty in his green eyes. "You know he'd blame himself…" _

"_Shut up!" Dean cried out. "Just shut up!" Stepping back he fought to breathe past the pressure in his chest. He tried to grasp the flashes in his mind as they rapidly changed, morphing into each other. A man's voice echoed in the back of his mind, speaking words of love, comfort and loyalty; the soft gentle tone flooding him with a sense of peace._

"_Dean, you know Sam would be ashamed and disgusted…," the woman pressed, sensing she was hitting a nerve._

_Dean stumbled back, his hands over his face as he moaned. His head felt like it was going to explode as memories tried to surface, none of them staying long enough for him to grasp. He backed into the tray, knocking it over, sending his immaculate tools clattering to the floor._

"_Shut up," he howled desperately, trying to block her voice from his mind. _

_She continued her own brand of torture, "Everyone thought Sam was the evil one, even Sam himself. I wonder what he would say if he could see just how evil you are…That you have become what you once hunted."_

_Dean spun around to face the woman. "Shut up," he screamed, clamping his hands over his ears. "Shut up. Bela… Just shut up."_

_As soon as he said the woman's name, he felt the memory slam into him. His legs suddenly felt rubbery and his knees buckled. Landing hard on the floor, he gasped for air as shame and self-loathing flitted around the edges of his mind. He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder, and raised his head, confusion and anguish etched in his face._

_Soft amber eyes searched his features, her strawberry blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders as she leaned over him, her face showing only concern. Hearing the words the soul spurted forth, she looked to the table, her lightly freckled nose wrinkling as her lips curled in a sneer. She pulled her hand from Dean's shoulder and walked towards the rack, stooping to rummage through the tools scattered on the floor, before picking up the meat cleaver._

_In two quick steps, she was standing over Bela and glaring into her face. "He asked you to shut up," she hissed. "So shut up, bitch." With inhuman speed, she raised the meat cleaver, and slammed it heavily into Bela's throat. Bela fell silent, not even a gurgle passing her lips. Her head teetered for a moment before rolling from the rack and onto the floor, her vacant eyes staring at Dean._

_The girl dropped the blade to the floor and hurried to Dean's side. She gripped his face in her hands and forced him to look into her eyes. "Dean?" she called softly. "C'mon let's get you up off the floor."_

_Dean pushed her hands away. "Leave me alone!" He hissed, turning away from her concerned gaze. He didn't deserve concern - he was a monster. Not only did he torture these souls, but he enjoyed it. He created new ways to inflict pain and terror on them, just to increase his own pleasure._

_She sat on the floor next to him, wrapping her arms around his shaking form. "Who is Sam?" she asked gently. When he didn't respond she turned his head to face her. "C'mon we're friends…talk to me. Who is Sam?"_

_Dean swallowed hard, looking into her amber eyes. "I think…I think he was my brother," he whispered. "And I think I failed him…he'd be so ashamed of me." His lips quivered as the feeling of failure washed over him. "Beth…He would hate me now."_

_

* * *

  
_

Sam stepped from the shower, wiping the steam from the mirror he stared at his reflection. He was drained, emotionally as well as physically, and the hot shower had done little to ease the tension in his stiff muscles. Releasing a deep sigh, he dried himself and stepped into the grey jogging pants he usually slept in.

He did not intend to continue his conversation with Dean once he got out of the bathroom. All his exhausted body wanted was a few hours sleep. It didn't matter to him that it was early afternoon, sleep was one way he could avoid his brother without actually leaving the room.

Opening the door, Sam stepped into the cool air of the main room, his gaze on the floor as he rubbed the towel through his wet hair. A soft moan caused him to look up, and he dropped the towel to the floor in shock, all his anger dissipating as he stared across the room.

Dean sat huddled against the counter, his arms wrapped around his legs, his head resting on his knees as he rocked back and forth. Sam could see his brother's shoulders shake as he sobbed, and hear the anguish in his quiet moans. Sam rushed to Dean, dropping to the floor beside him as he put an arm around the older man's shoulders.

Sam wasn't sure what had set Dean off, but he felt responsible. The younger hunter had never seen his brother in this condition before, and was unsure of what to do. He could feel his brother's pain with each gut-wrenching sob and his own eyes filled with tears.

Dean stiffened, pulling away from Sam's touch, still in the throes of his bitter memories. "He'll hate me…" Dean whispered, his face buried against his knees. The elder Winchester's stomach clenched with the realization of what he had become. "Oh God…Sam would hate me…I would disgust him. He'd be ashamed of me…" He continued rocking and chanting, "He'd hate me…He'd hate me."

Sam pressed a hand against his mouth, forcing back his own tears in the face of his brother's breakdown. He wrapped his arms around his sibling, pulling Dean tightly to him. Sam cleared his throat, trying to speak past the lump that had lodged itself there. "Dean, I'm here," he said softly. "It's me, Sam."

Dean stopped rocking, his body growing even more rigid, "No, Sam would hate me," he replied in a small voice, sounding lost and alone. "I trained him to hate things like me."

Sam bit his lip, tears sliding down his cheeks as he realized where Dean was in his own mind. Whatever the memory was, it was beyond bad if Dean was convinced that Sam would hate his big brother for it. He tightened his hold and lowered his mouth to Dean's ear.

"Dean, it's me," he began. "I don't hate you. I love you, you're my brother…I could never hate you. There is nothing you could ever do, EVER, to make me hate you."

Dean heard the soft murmuring in his ear, and felt the accompanying warm puff of air. He took a shaky breath, and the clean scent of Sam's shower gel permeated his fogged mind. Slowly he raised his head, his haunted eyes coming to rest on his brother's face.

Sam smiled at him through his tears. "There you are," he whispered, his heart breaking at the pain and self-loathing he saw in his brother's face. "I'm here…everything is gonna be okay."

"Sam?" Dean murmured in disbelief. "What…?" He slowly looked around the room as the present seeped back into his mind, pushing back the horrific memories of the past. He shook his head, swallowing nervously. "I guess I was a little…ah…" He grimaced, unable to look Sam in the eyes.

"Yeah, you were a little out of it," Sam nodded. He pulled his arms from his brother and patted his shoulder as he sensed Dean's discomfort.

Dean wiped a hand across his tear-streaked face, and pushed himself up from the floor. His gaze darted around the room, focussing anywhere but on his little brother. The elder hunter felt vulnerable and humiliated. He couldn't believe he had broken down like that in front of Sam. He was supposed to be strong; he wasn't supposed to show his weakness, his fear. The game face wasn't meant to fold like a cheap suit. He couldn't look at Sam; he was scared of what he might see in the younger man's eyes.

Sam rose to his feet, watching as Dean pulled himself together. He saw the veil fall over Dean's eyes the wall that normally hid his emotions slamming firmly back in place. Sam knew Dean wouldn't talk about what had just happened, and he wasn't so sure he wanted him to.

Dean's walls had crumbled, partially due to the shame he felt, but mostly because he feared Sam would hate him. Sam swallowed; he didn't know what Dean had remembered, but he knew that he was going to be there for him. He would never give Dean reason to think he hated him, and he vowed that they would get through these nightmares, together.

Sam picked up the coffee pot, and held it up. "Hey, you want that coffee now, Bro?"

Dean raked a hand through his hair and smiled weakly. "Yeah," he answered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The dark blue sedan sat beneath the large oak, shading its passenger from the afternoon sun. Not that she minded the heat. She had certainly been in warmer places, she thought to her self, gazing at the motel across the road as she popped the last bit of the cheeseburger into her mouth. She had no problem finding the young hunters, once again the black classic gave them away.

She yawned, her hand gently patting the bulge in her hip pocket. It wasn't easy getting the items she needed for the hex bag, but after a lot of searching, she had found everything. Castiel wouldn't know she was there. She would deal with him when the time came, and it wouldn't be pretty.

Stretching, she looked out at the sun, noting that it would be several hours before it went down. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, trying to think of a way to kill the time. Thinking about her plans for Dean and his guardian, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift, remembering what she had gone through in hell, the pain she felt because of him.

Because of Dean Winchester.

* * *

_Opening her eyes, she found herself suspended by chains hooked through her shoulders, blood running freely from the wounds to pool on the floor beneath her feet. Slowly she moved her head, and feeling no pain or resistance she cautiously looked around, finding herself alone. The relief was short-lived as she heard his footsteps approaching long before she saw him, and tensed, preparing herself for the next assault._

"_Now, now…" he chuckled. "That's no way to greet me."_

_She looked down as he walked into her field of vision, and groaned in annoyance. "Alastair, What are you up to now?" she demanded. She was tired of his head games. If he wanted to torture her, fine, but quit the 'we can be friends' crap. _

"_I came to make you an offer," Alastair replied smugly. "But if you're not interested…"_

"_Wait!" she called. He couldn't be making the offer already-she had only been back on the racks a few months. Gazing at him warily, she asked, "What's the offer?"_

_The demon torturer smiled. "That's my girl." Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced the floor. "You know the offer."_

"_Already?" she asked, distrust on her face. "I haven't been here long enough for the offer." After well over a hundred years in Alastair's chambers, and several hundred more in other regions, she knew how it worked. She should be on the racks at least fifty years, then the offer would be made. Alastair never strayed from his format. It was how he did things here. _

"_Are you saying no?" he questioned, a humourless smile on his face. "Because if you are, I know Dean is waiting for you."_

_She blanched and chewed her lip pensively. "Are you playing head games with me?" she demanded, glaring at him. She was not in the mood for this, but she really wasn't in the mood for Dean._

_Alastair looked up at her. "No head games," he replied, his eyes glowing mischievously. "Don't you think you have put in enough time on the racks?"_

"_I thought I put in enough time before I got here," she shot back, watching his face intently. There had to be more to it - he actually seemed to be in a good mood for a change. _

_Alastair began pacing again, trying not to let his admiration show. She always had such spunk, he mused. "So? Do you want off the rack or not?" _

"_Yes I want off the rack…Do you think I'm crazy?" The demon walked out of her view, and a few seconds later, she felt herself being lowered to the floor. _

_Alastair came to her side and gently withdrew the hooks. "Neberios feels you should be punished longer." He made no attempt to hide his amusement as he spoke of the other demon._

"_That's because he got his panties in a bunch," she answered simply, rubbing her hands over her bleeding shoulders. "I only told him what I really thought of him…How was I supposed to know he couldn't handle the truth." Her thoughts turned to Neberios, the protector of hell's gates, and her former boss. One little mistake, and he went ballistic. So an underling got through one of the fissures on her watch, she didn't think it was that big a deal. She had quickly tired of his ranting and said a few choice words of her own. The next thing she knew, she was on Dean's table._

"_I told you one of these days that tongue of yours would get you into trouble." Alastair ran his fingers through her strawberry blonde curls. _

_She spun around to look at him, horrified anger on her face. "Was it your idea then?" she demanded. "That trick your pet pulled. Did you suggest it?" She remembered clearly. Once again, she was on Dean's table, why she kept ending up on his table she didn't know. He had been doing the usual cut-burn-stab and pull routine. Then things had gotten nasty. Using a pair of pliers, he had pulled her tongue past her lips, then holding it in place; he had struck her under the chin, hard. Her teeth had clamped together and she had bitten off her own tongue. Her stomach roiled just thinking about it._

_Alastair took her hand and place it in the crook of his arm, ever the gentleman. "Oh no my dear, that was all Dean." He glowed with a fatherly pride. "That boy is just brilliant." Pausing, he looked at her inquisitively. "Would you like one more time on Dean's table…for old times sake?" He laughed as she glared at him, anger flashing in her amber eyes._

"_Are you frickin' nuts?" she shouted. "The bastard is truly sadistic. Have you even seen half the crap he does?" An involuntary shudder coursed through her body. She wanted nothing more to do with Alastair's latest pet._

"_Yes," the head torturer replied, looking at her fondly. "You were such an inspiration to him." Alastair hoped he was doing the right thing in taking her from under Dean's knife and putting her under his supervision instead. He shook his head, sure he was right in his decision; Dean had a lot to teach her._

"_An inspiration? An inspiration?" she ranted, staring at the demon incredulously. "How was I an inspiration?"_

"_You didn't break easily," was his simple reply as he led her from the room._

_She could hear the screams and smell the charred flesh before they walked through the door. Alastair paused at a small cabinet and turned, handing her a cloth bundle. Taking it, she loosened the string that held it secure, gently rolling it open to make a quick inspection of the tools inside. She withdrew the fillet knife and examined the handle, finding a small notch in the base, and raised questioning eyes to Alastair._

"_Yes, they are yours," he confirmed, patting her arm. "I always knew you'd be back." As a master of the art, he knew the tools became an extension of self, and quite often, an attachment was formed. Before she could say anything, he led her to a table where a middle-aged man was strapped to its surface. _

_She paused, looking around. The station was already set up, but the torturer was nowhere to be seen. Hearing a noise behind her she turned around, and came face to face with Dean Winchester. She looked at Alastair as realization dawned on her and she shook her head adamantly. "No, no damn way."_

"_You will work with Dean or you will go back on the racks," Alastair replied coldly. He gripped her roughly and pulled her back around to face Dean. "Dean this is Bethany… She will be your student."_

_She looked at the demon in complete outrage, "His student? I've done this before Alastair. I don't need a teacher, God!" _

_Alastair shook her roughly and stared into her eyes, "What have I told you about saying that here?"_

_Bethany rolled her eyes insolently. "Don't say God in your presence," she replied mockingly, paused for a moment and then hissed, "God!" Her head rocked as Alastair's hand connected with her cheek. She glared at him but held her tongue._

_Looking her over, Dean nodded. "You gave me a lot of trouble. I hope things will be different now that you're on this side of the knife." He turned, dismissing her as he resumed cutting into the soul on the table._

_Bethany turned to Alastair. "You can't be serious!" she complained. "There is no way I'm working with him. He's an ass…" _

_Dean swung around to face her, a lecherous smile on his lips. "I'd rather that body of yours be on my table anyway," he taunted. "So many things I haven't done to it yet. We hadn't even got to the fun stuff." _

_Alastair took a deep breath, beginning to think that he had made a mistake. He always remembered her so fondly, but now that she was back under his thumb, he was remembering how annoying she could be. The demon wracked his brain, trying to remember what it was that he had liked so much about her. What made him pleased to have her back?_

_Bethany's eyes widened as Dean continued with his lewd description of what they were missing by her being off the rack. She quickly ducked her head as she felt her checks flush, dismayed that he had been able to embarrass her so easily, and fervently hoped he wouldn't notice._

_Alastair watched the blush travel her face, realizing that was what endeared her to him. For as long as she had been here, on the racks and off, she still had an innocence about her. She never completely lost her humanity, and she didn't even realize it. He shook his head in determination. As much as her innocence intrigued him, she had to be broken. The battle was near, and he needed them strong. There was no time for him to explore the mind of Bethany, something he already regretted. _

_

* * *

  
_

She felt the minor change of temperature and opened her eyes, blinking at the setting sun in surprise. She must have fallen asleep, which if she thought about it wasn't that strange. The body she inhabited had been exhausted, and close to collapse when she had taken it over. It seemed these mortals just didn't know how or even want to take care of the vessels they lived in. Her musings had obviously lulled the body into a sleepy comfort.

Sighing, she thought about her time with Dean. At first they had clashed, it was like mixing oil and water. They'd disagreed about everything, and he wasn't above smacking her around if she got too verbal in her opinions. More often than not, she would be picking herself up from the bloodstained floor, just to be knocked back down. She shook her head at the memory. She didn't know why she did it, but she had fought him at every turn, even when she knew he was right. Alastair had a point, her mouth did get her in a lot of trouble, but she never could think before she spoke.

Then things had begun to change between her and Dean - sometime during that first month a friendship had built. Beth snickered to herself, thinking that it was funny how things had come full circle. They had started out as enemies, became friends, and now they were back to being enemies again - full circle.

Gazing into the rear-view mirror, she studied the deep brown eyes of the woman whose body she was possessing. "It's time for our adventure to begin," she murmured to the soul trapped inside. "If you want to keep any sanity at all, I recommend you sleep through the next few hours." She could feel the soul push against her. It was a strong one, but not strong enough to keep Beth from her mission.

She didn't have time to drive she would have to jump. Being late wasn't an option. No one made Lillith wait.

* * *

He stood impassively, observing the young woman in the car beneath the tree. She had been there for a few hours, not moving, just sitting with her head against the headrest. He wasn't close enough to see, but he was certain her eyes were closed.

"What are we doing here, Castiel?" Uriel asked in exasperation. "There is no sign of a demon here."

Castiel turned his head to face his dark-skinned companion. "I told you, there is a demon that has been trailing the brothers."

"Maybe so," Uriel replied in a bored tone. "But it's not here."

"I just…" Castiel trailed off, unsure of how to voice his unease.

"You just what?" Uriel demanded. "Seals need to be protected. We have more important things to do."

"I have a hunch," Castiel said softly.

"A hunch?" Uriel shook his head in disgust. "You have been spending too much time with those… slugs."

An electric current sizzled in the air around them, followed by a barely audible pop, and the smell of sulphur floated in the breeze. Castiel turned to look at the car. It was empty - there was no sign of the woman who had been sitting inside.

"It was her…" Castiel muttered. His hunch had been right, but now the demon had gone. The question was where and why. Had she seen them? Did she know that he knew the body she possessed? If so, he would be back at square one; she'd switch bodies, and he wouldn't know who he was looking for.

Uriel's face contorted in anger. "The damned soul was cloaked?"

"I suspected as much," Castiel replied, turning his gaze to his companion. "She gave me the impression she wasn't going to give up easily."

"What will we do now?" Uriel questioned. "If she's cloaked, we'll never track her."

"We keep watch over the brothers…And wait."

* * *

Dean pressed his hands against the wall as he leaned forward, letting the hot water cascade over his shoulders. It seemed everything was going from bad to worse. From the day he had clawed his way out of his grave five months ago, nightmares had plagued him. Some were worse than others, but as time had passed they came less often and weren't as intense. He had even been able to sleep through some nights without waking in a cold sweat. That was until a little over a week ago.

He had just begun to think the worst of it was over; the dreams were vague, and he didn't remember them upon waking. Then the new nightmares had started. They were way more vivid than anything he'd experienced before; the images coming in quick succession as if he was reliving Hell all over again, night after night. And he could still hear the screams when he opened his eyes each morning.

Heaving a sigh, he turned off the taps and stepped from the shower, he pulled a towel from the rack and quickly dried off. The flashback he'd had earlier had left him more than a little shaken. It wasn't just a memory; it was as if he had been thrown back into the pit. Even now he could smell the charred flesh, taste the blood on his lips. He had been awake when it had hit, and he couldn't smother it, couldn't push it from his mind. That fact bothered him the most; the images had taken over, leaving him helpless. He had to gain some kind of control over this. What would happen if the memories took over while they were on a hunt? He couldn't keep Sam safe if he was a blubbering idiot.

Dean quickly dressed when he heard movement on the other side of the door, indicating that Sam was awake. He was wary of facing the younger man, uncertain of how Sam would look at him. Leaving the towel and dirty clothes on the floor, Dean stepped into the main room.

Sam sat at the table, the laptop open in front of him, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He passed a cursory glance over the older hunter, then turned back to the screen.

Dean walked to the coffee pot, looking down at the computer as he passed. "You find another job?" he asked, pouring himself a coffee.

"No," Sam replied absently, closing the laptop. Looking at his brother, he asked, "Did you sleep at all?"

"I'm a big boy, Sammy," Dean answered, sitting across from his brother. "I don't need a nap. I can stay up until it gets dark," he quipped, his eyes wide in mock innocence.

Watching Dean, Sam leaned back in his chair and shook his head. There was no point in getting into this; he knew Dean wasn't going to give in. "You want to go get some food?"

"You go," Dean responded. "I think I'll just see what's on the tube. Bring me back a cheeseburger." Standing, Dean crossed the room to the small TV. He turned it on and sat on the bed, his gaze focused on the screen.

"Dean…" Sam began tentatively.

"Sam, don't." Dean warned.

With a shrug, Sam picked up the keys and headed for the door.

"Oh, make sure you get onions on that burger." Dean called to his back.

Sliding behind the wheel, Sam slipped the key into the ignition, raising his gaze to the review mirror before cranking the engine. He spotted a familiar figure partially hidden by the corner of the building, resisting the urge to turn around, he watched the man in the mirror. _Uriel? _Narrowing his eyes, Sam grabbed the door handle, preparing to confront the skulking angel. _Skulking? Do angels skulk? _Sam thought warily as he stepped from the Impala.

Closing the door gently, he turned towards the angel, frowning in confusion when he failed to spot the dark-skinned being. He surveyed the area around him as he cautiously walked to the side of the motel where Uriel had been. Rounding the corner he tensed, expecting to find Uriel waiting for him, but the angel was nowhere in sight. Frustrated, Sam turned slowly, looking in every direction for the sanctimonious angel, but failed to locate the entity. Giving up on his fruitless search for the moment, he returned to the Impala.

Sam released a pent up breath as he got back into the car. Something was going on, something big. There were too many coincidences for his liking. First, Dean's nightmares had returned with a vengeance and now he was having them while awake. Even though the article he had read about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, stated nightmares and flashbacks were common, Sam felt there was more to it - there had to be. For the nightmares to come back so intensely after they had seemed to be tapering off didn't sit well with the youngest Winchester. Then there was the incident with the ghost, the way it had just vanished in a wall of flames, it wasn't right. And now he finds Uriel spying on them. Too many things were happening at once to be shrugged off as mere coincidences - for them, there were no such things as coincidences.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Bethany leaned against the trunk of the tree, pulling the thin denim jacket tighter around the borrowed body. The clouds had rolled in, carpeting the stars and moon, leaving her in an inky darkness. Shivering in the evening chill, she searched the area around her. She had been so worried about being late, and here she stood - alone. Shuffling her feet impatiently, she listened for any sounds of the other demon's arrival.

Crossing her arms tighter over her chest, she bounced gently on her heels, trying to gain warmth in the motion. She wasn't used to the cooler temperatures - she couldn't remember the last time she had been cold. Lillith should've been here by now, and Bethany was growing more agitated with each passing second. She'd give the bitch twenty minutes, and after that she would go find her. Playing Lillith's childish games wasn't in her plans.

Once she had what she was looking for, she would find the Winchesters and their angelic guardian and when she was done, Dean would be begging for her mercy. She smiled wickedly as she lowered herself to the ground, sitting on the carpet of pine needles while she waited for Lillith.

-O-

_Dean stepped back from the table, rubbing a bloodied hand across his jaw. "I can't do this anymore," he whispered to his accomplice._

"_Yes you can," she urged. "You have to." Bethany looked into his haunted green eyes as he shook his head._

"_No, I can't. Not now…not knowing…" He couldn't finish the job - with every cut, every twist, he could see his brother's mortified gaze. He remembered his life before this - he knew who he was. Dean had lost his way for a while, but now it was time to be strong._

_Bethany pushed a stray curl from her forehead as she weighed what she was about to say. With a sigh, she tugged her lower lip pensively. "Is this about your brother?" she asked as she guided Dean back to the table. "Do you think he wants you on the table? Do you think he would rather you be tortured, ripped apart until the end of time?" He shot her a heated glare, but remained silent. Picking up the knife Dean had laid down, she placed it into his hand. "You have to look out for you, Dean."_

_She studied his face, watching the different emotions as they flitted through his eyes, a sad smile forming on her lips as she nodded. "I see…" Inhaling deeply, she hesitated for a moment knowing he wasn't going to like what she had to say. "Dean…Sam doesn't exist. Not here. Don't you get it?" Reaching out, she took the knife from his hand, and gently led him to the wall. Sitting down so her back was pressed against the stone surface, she tugged Dean's hand until he lowered himself next to her._

"_That life…the one that woman…"_

"_Bela," Dean mumbled, staring at the floor. "Her name was Bela."_

"_Her name __**IS **__Bela," she said pointedly. "Like everyone here you, me …everyone. She exists - she __**is**__. That life you're hanging onto? It's gone, Dean. It's gone and you can never get it back." Looking at him, she tugged his hand, pulling his gaze to her. "You have to listen to me. If you keep going the way you have been….You'll go mad, Dean. I've seen it happen countless times before."_

_Dean pulled his hand back as he glared at the woman that had become his friend. "You don't understand," he stated icily. "You don't know about me…Who I am."_

"_Who you __**were…**__. I know all about you, Dean Winchester. I know who you were and I know who you are." She smiled. "But let's talk about the real problem here. You say you can't do this because Sam would be ashamed, disgusted by you…Now try being honest. You're ashamed and scared because you love it." Dean flinched, holding himself rigid. "Every cut, every scream, every drop of blood. You love it, it makes you feel alive…Powerful. Then at the end of the day, you hate yourself, sickened by what you've become." Bethany turned her head, staring at the table they had walked away from. "I know…because I feel that way too," she whispered, tears shimmering in her amber eyes._

"_So what are you saying? Just keep doing it? Who cares what Sam or anyone else might think?" Dean scrubbed a hand along his face. "I don't want him to hate me." _

"_That's just it Dean. Up there, you're dead…you don't exist. That life is over. And down here, Sam doesn't exist. It's a different life. This? This is a different world, a new life, new rules. What was unacceptable up there, is par for the course down here." Hesitating, she turned to face him, "Down here, you are power. The souls fear you. Your very name strikes terror into the core of their being. You need to let go of what once was you. You need to realize that you can never go back. Sam will never know what it's like for you here; he'll never know what you do. In this life Sam doesn't exist." Bethany placed a gentle hand on his cheek, her eyes glinting mischievously. "When in Rome, Dean…"_

_ -O-  
_

"Well? What do you want?" the childish voice demanded.

Bethany started, raising her head to face the pale features of the child in front of her. Even in the blackness of night, the girl seemed to glow with an inner light. _Pure Hellfire_, Bethany thought as she scrambled to her feet.

"Lilltih," Bethany acknowledged, studying the young body the older demon now possessed. "I just don't understand why you insist on invading children, it restricts what you can do."

The cherubic face lit with an icy smile. "Nothing restricts me," Lillith giggled in childlike joy, her blond ringlets bouncing as she moved. "Now what is it you want? You may as well tell me before I send you back to the flames."

"You won't," Bethany answered with a confidence she didn't feel. "You're too damn curious. You want to know whether I'm crazy or extremely brave. If it's the latter, you'll want to recruit me." She kept her gaze on the little girl, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground.

"Don't be so sure," Lillith said, slowly circling the woman, her brow furrowed as she glared at Bethany, her bright blue eyes changing to a milky white. "You have nothing to offer me. You aren't even as valuable as a minion. You may have had Alastair wrapped around your finger, but you can't play me so easy." Lillith stopped in front of Bethany, a cruel smiling curling her lips. "I may be interested in what you have to say…but not likely."

"Oh you'll be interested," Bethany shot back cockily. She had to sell this. If she was to get her revenge, she needed something from Lillith first. With a sigh, she combed her fingers through her copper hair. "I want the Unholy Sword," she said hastily, preparing herself for the other demon's reaction. The sudden bray of laughter took her by surprise; Lillith seemed genuinely amused by her request. Bethany narrowed her eyes. "What is so damned funny?"

"You…you want the Unholy Sword?" Lilltih asked between fits of laughter.

Bethany glared angrily. It didn't matter how powerful the other entity was; she didn't appreciate being laughed at. She needed the sword, she knew the lore behind it, and she didn't care. If she could destroy Dean Winchester, going mad was a small price to pay. "Yes," she exclaimed heatedly. "I want the Unholy Sword…"

Lillith stopped laughing, but the amused smile lingered as she stepped closer to the woman. "You want the Unholy Sword?… Lucifer's Sword? You do realize you aren't strong enough to wield it? You would be driven insane within seconds."

Determination flashed in Bethany's eyes. Satisfied that Lillith was at least willing to discuss the issue, she continued, "I don't care if it drives me insane…I need it."

Shaking her head, Lillith lowered her gaze from the woman's face. "What do you need it for? What is worth losing your sanity, possibly your very existence for?"

"I need to destroy an angel," Bethany answered, watching the child alertly. It would be nothing for Lillith to suddenly attack, even with her own kind; provocation wasn't always needed for her to send one to hell.

"You were right," Lillith murmured, fixing her gaze on Bethany. "I do find this interesting…So you just looking to kill any ol' angel, or do you have a particular one in mind?"

Relaxing slightly, Bethany smiled. "I have one in mind…Castiel. Maybe you heard of him?"

Nodding, Lillith studied the young demon in front of her. It would be very convenient for Castiel to be taken out, leaving the Winchester boys without their divine protection. However, she knew the girl would fail, especially seeing she hadn't really done her research. "As much as I'd love to have that thorn removed from my side, the Unholy Sword wouldn't work."

Bethany stared at the girl, swallowing hard. "It would work! I heard about it…"

Raising her hand, Lillith cut her off. "It wouldn't work because it doesn't exist." She watched the waves of disbelief, sadness and defeat ripple across the woman's features, quickly replaced with an angry determination.

"You're lying!" Bethany growled at her elder. "I heard the stories. Lucifer brought the sword with him when he jumped from Heaven. He used it to kill angels in the First Battle."

Lillith took her hand, looking into Bethany's eyes, searching her dark soul. "It was a fairy tale, nothing more." Shaking her head sadly, she let go of the young demon's hand. "Don't you think if it truly existed we'd have used it by now?"

"There has to be something," Bethany pled. "You must know if something…You are one of the ancients…You were here practically since time began."

"It's not nice to remind a woman of her age you know," Lillith cooed. "There is something…but it's very hard to get. It was taken from us a long time ago. Seeking this weapon will destroy the owner of that meat suit you are wearing…And I know how you have been protecting…saving the hosts you use. So are you willing to do that? Are you willing to kill that bitch you hold hostage?"

Bethany tugged her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger as she contemplated Lilltih's words. Finally, she shrugged. "Yes… I'll do it. Where is this weapon? How do I get it?"

Cocking her head, Lillith wiped a small hand across her mouth. "I need some answers first." She paused; continuing when she saw that she had Bethany's full attention. "Why Castiel? Of all the angels, why him?"

"It's simple, Lillith," she replied nonchalantly. "He is in the way…I'll take out Uriel too, if he tries to interfere. I want Dean Winchester. I want him to suffer…and to do that I need to get rid of the angels protecting him. Then…his brother." A sickening smile slid across her face. "Everyone who tries to protect him will die, then…Then it'll be his turn."

Lillith chortled. "You think you can take out the Winchesters? What makes you think you can achieve something no other demon could? We had Dean in Hell…and still he rose up from the pit to stand at his brother's side."

"Why do I think I can do it?" Bethany asked. "Because I don't care if I'm destroyed…As long as Dean goes down with me. I'm fully prepared to take him out first if I think that he might get away. I can make him suffer later…"

Tapping a finger on her chin, Lillith looked thoughtfully at the woman. _She just might be able to do it, _the senior demon mused to herself_. _Obviously she had no concern for her own safety, and it would be a big help to be rid of the Winchesters and the angels that hovered over them. "I'll tell you what I know…" she began. "The dagger was created in the time of the Grigori, by one of the children to emerge from the joining of angel and human. These children were the first gods of earth; they had great power and great strength. When the Grigori fell in love with mortals, God called it a sin and they were forbidden to ever enter the gates of heaven again. Then the Mindless angels were sent to collect the Sagacious, the ones they called Fallen…."

"Yes. The Battle before the Great Flood," Bethany whispered. "When their God tried to force all angels into mindless submission."

-O-

_The humid air clung to their bodies, drenching their skin, blending with their sweat. Naram-Sin walked ahead, towering well above the mere mortal man who had come to seek his father. He sneered as the man stumbled, looking up to his face. The man barely came to Naram -Sin's knees, yet he showed no fear when he confronted him, claiming he had a message from the Great God above._

_Naram-Sin quickly climbed the mountain, as it was not more than a hill to him, and waited near the top for the smaller man to follow. Growing impatient, the giant reached down and picked up the man in one hand, setting him down at the top of the mountain. In front of them stood Naram-Sin's father and his brothers, all waiting expectantly for the man called Enoch to tell them of their fate. Naram-Sin reined in his anger; this was not the time to express his feeling towards his father's father, the creator of all. Instead he nodded humbly when his father bade him to take leave and allow them to speak alone._

"_Azazel," Enoch addressed Naram-Sin's father. I have spoken to the Holy Great One; I have taken to him the petition on your behalf…" He paused as the Angels known as the Grigori watched him beseechingly. "The petition shall not be granted."_

_Naram-Sim listened from his hidden perch, as Enoch spoke of the destruction of his father and his father's brothers. He grew angry as Enoch also spoke of the destruction of the children the angels had begat with the human women, children like himself. Naram-Sin had heard enough, he crept quietly from his hiding place and made his way to his shop. It was time to fight back against the never swaying Creator; and he had the knowledge to do so._

_Into the late hours of the night, the giant slaved over the fires, working with the metals as his father had taught him. A trade that was considered wrong - considered a transgression against The Holy One. His large lip curled in a snarl, his eyes glinting in anger. The Holy One. The God of the Heavens and All That Is Below was planning his death, planning to destroy all those like Naram-Sin, but he would be ready when the Avengers descended from the sky._

_He mixed his blood with the copper as he began to create the blade. The dagger would be rather small by his standards, but easily wielded by the smaller beings, like his mother and father. Although Azazel and his brethren were larger than that of the mortal man, they too were smaller than Naram-Sin and his kind. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he continued to painstakingly forge the blade, paying special attention to the fine detail in the little knife. After he finished this dagger, he would create weapons proportional to his own size._

_ -O-_

"Well?" Bethany asked, fixing her gaze on the child host. "Did it work? Does it kill angels?"

Lillith smirked, shaking her head at the younger demon. "It worked, but not how he had planned." The demon stared intently at Bethany. "You see, before he had a chance to use the weapon on an angel or give it to Azazel, the Angels of the Lord put their mission into action. They caused a war to break out among the Nephilim, forcing the great giants to fight each other to the death."

"And?" Bethany questioned, raising an eyebrow. "What happened with the dagger? Why didn't it work as he planned?"

"The blade had been infused with his blood, his sweat and some say his tears. However, he never had the chance to work his dark magic, and the blade was incomplete. It will kill angels, demons even…as long as they are corporeal. After the whole thing with the Grigori, it was prohibited for angels to make themselves a physical body, and they can only possess, I'm sorry…merge," Lillith said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Angels don't possess, they merge within the body of a willing host. Anyway, they can only merge when God commands it."

An icy smile sprang to Bethany's lips. "So it will work on Castiel…"

"Yes, it will kill him…He would be completely destroyed." Lillith returned the icy smile. "But you would have to get the dagger first. And I'll tell you where to find it…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Sam thumped the motel room door gently with his foot, a take-out bag in one hand, six-pack of beer in the other. After three quick taps with his foot, he stood back waiting for Dean to let him in. Several seconds passed, but the only sound he heard coming from the room was the muffled blare of the TV. Huffing impatiently, he booted the door a little harder, calling to his older sibling. Sam grumbled under his breath as he transferred the beer to the arm holding their quickly cooling meal. Once it was secured, he fished in his jeans pockets for the motel key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Kicking the door closed behind him, he paused momentarily to scan the room. The only light came from the flickering images on the TV screen, but despite the near darkness he could see that there was nothing wrong, merely a sibling who was currently dead to the world. He walked purposefully to the small card table, dropping his parcels onto the surface with a thud before spinning around angrily to face his brother. Dean laid sprawled on the end of the bed, mouth slightly open as he snored softly, his feet still on the floor as if he had just flopped back while watching TV.

Sam's features softened as he watched the older man sleep. _Well, he made it til dark_, he thought wryly, turning back to the table. Deciding the glow from the TV was enough light, he sat at the table and helped himself to his portion of the take-out meal and a pint of beer. While he ate, Sam's gaze kept returning to the sleeping hunter, watching for any signs of nightmares in the older man's face. Dean's features were smooth; the lines of stress and worry had vanished in his slumber.

Finishing the meal, Sam cleaned up his garbage and put Dean's burger and fries in the small bar fridge provided. He grabbed another bottle of beer, and pulled his laptop from the carry case. Placing it on the table, he prepared to do a little investigating on the local area. Uriel was there for a reason. While Sam felt sure that the angel had been there because of them, he wanted to check - maybe there was a case involved. Within minutes, Sam was lost in the pages of his research.

Hearing a soft moan, he raised his head towards his sleeping sibling. A faint smile was on the older man's lips as he continued to breathe deeply in slumber. Sam's lips twitched into a gentle smile as he watched his brother, relieved that Dean was having a good dream for a change. Sighing, Sam returned his attention to the screen in front of him.

~0000~

_The room was dark; the faint light from the flickering candle sending moving shadows over the stone walls. The hunter watched them with a sad smile for a few moments before turning to face the young woman beside him. It was a rare occasion for them to have time in the private recreation room together, and he was enjoying her company. They had talked about everything - everything but their job. Neither of them wanted to remind the other that this was just a short reprieve; they'd be back to ripping apart souls sooner than they'd like._

_Her head was tilted back as she laughed softly at something he had said. His gaze trailed down her neck as he licked his lips, clearing his throat before he spoke. "Yeah," Dean chuckled. "That was Sammy. I pulled a lot of pranks on that kid." Shaking his head, he looked back at the shadows as they danced along the walls. "He was so gullible back then. I could get him to believe anything…"_

"_Sounds to me that you took advantage of the poor boy…Being big brother and all," she said, her voice still laced with laughter. "Did he ever get you back?"_

"_Oh he tried," Dean answered, his smile growing fonder as he thought about his baby brother. "But he was never that good at pranks. He did glue my hand to a beer bottle once, but that was when we were older…a lot older." He sobered as he glanced her way. "I wonder if he had a good life…If he made it through his personal Hell. I…sometimes I wonder if he's still alive, you know…all old and wrinkly. Maybe married, with a bunch of kids and grandkids."_

_Bethany's smile faltered as she turned to face her cohort and best friend. Swallowing hard she sighed before murmuring. "Dean…It doesn't matter does it? Really. Just believe he is happy…Believe that everything worked out for the best. There's no way you can know for sure." Bethany averted her eyes as she spoke._

_Dean ran a hand through his short, sandy hair, the thin smile on his lips never reaching his eyes. "It's been damn near thirty- eight years…I should've heard something. One of those souls he sent back should have said something…," he rasped._

_Tugging her lip, Bethany eyed him speculatively. "Dean…Listen to me. What I'm about to tell you…Well, you're going to think I'm crazy…I shouldn't tell you. Damn…If they find out I could be in some serious shit here." _

_Reaching out, Dean gripped her arms, pulling her towards him roughly. "Do you know something about my brother?" he hissed, green eyes glinting coldly. "You better tell me right now."_

_She pulled from his grasp, shoving him away from her. "No, I don't know anything about your brother," Bethany spat angrily. "After these past couple years, after working side by side…You think that I would keep something like that from you?" Tears shimmered in her amber eyes as she spoke. "Do you really think that little of me?"_

_Dropping his hands to his side, Dean groaned. Women. They went into hysterics over the stupidest things. Of course he thought she knew something about Sam, that's who they had been talking about. He glared at her, trying to keep his voice even as he spoke. "What the hell are you talking about then, huh? Something you aren't supposed to tell me…"_

"_It hasn't been thirty -eight years," she growled._

"_What the… What are you talking about Bethany? I think I would know how much time I've spent in Hell. It isn't something that slips your mind!" _

"_I told you that you would think I was crazy. I escaped from here once…a long time ago." She paused, looking into his eyes. "Time is different here…up there…Topside? It's been more like three - four months tops. So yeah, your brother is probably alive. He isn't old; he probably looks the same as the day you… left." Bethany shrugged, nonchalantly. "That's all I wanted to tell you…I thought maybe it would make you feel better, not hearing anything about him. It's just because up there, it hasn't been as long as down here."_

_Dean looked at the girl incredulously, searching her face for the truth, only to find that she honestly believed what she was saying. Shaking his head, he sat on the nearest bench, staring at the walls, while he absorbed the information. Not even four months had passed for Sam. His baby brother was still up there fighting the war on his own, probably still grieving for his older sibling. For Dean, his death was years ago, but for Sam it would still be fresh. He had convinced himself that Sammy had adapted, that he had gotten past Dean's fate, and moved on with his life. Now to find that his brother had in all likelihood barely moved past that day. That his brother was probably still seeing him being ripped apart every time he closed his eyes. Dean slowly shook his head._

"_Why did you tell me this," he asked, his voice barely audible to his own ears._

_Bethany quickly looked around then sat next to him. "I don't know," she confessed. "I just thought…I don't know what I thought to be honest." Turning to face him, she cupped his chin in her hand. "They don't want you to know. No one is allowed to say anything about what's going on…And because you and I are friends…I'm not allowed to know either." _

"_Why?" Dean questioned softly. "What does it matter?"_

"_As long as you think about your brother, you hold on to a part of your humanity, Dean. That's why I discourage you from talking about Sam in the open. But I ask you about him when we are alone. For whatever reason, they want to turn you - fast." Bethany dropped her hand to her lap. "I have my suspicions. I think they want you to completely lose your humanity as soon as possible…So they can use you against Sam. What better way to have Sam join the dark side, than to have his own brother head demon of the army he'd command."_

"_They want to use me to get to Sam?" the young man asked dejectedly. "Was that the plan all along?"_

"_Probably," Bethany replied with a shrug. "But I'm not going to let that happen, Dean. I promise…I'll do everything I can to help you hold on to your humanity…And teach you to hide it."_

"_Why? Why would you do that? Why do you want me to be more human than demon?"_

_Bethany reached out hesitantly; sliding her hand to the side of his face, she caressed his strong jaw. Leaning towards him ever so slightly; she brushed her lips lightly over his. When he didn't try to move away, she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. Breaking off the embrace, she gazed into his green orbs, a shy smile on her face. "Any more questions?" _

_Dean shook his head. Wrapping his arms around her, he brought her close to him, capturing her lips with his own._

_~0000~  
_

In the motel, Dean moaned softly in his sleep, a small smile softening his stoic features. As he dreamed, the youngest Winchester kept watch over him.

~0000~

She was acutely aware of the entity that held her body hostage - it felt oily, dirty. And she wanted it out. Since the uninvited guest had pushed its way down her throat, she had fought it within her own mind, pushing and struggling with all her strength, but to no avail. Defeated for the moment, she had slipped further into her subconscious to wait and plan her next attack. She had every intention of regaining control over her body. This whatever-it-was wasn't going to stop her. She just needed time to figure things out.

Kimberly was a quick learner, and she never gave up. Through trial and error, she was finally able to find a way to gain access to small areas of her body; seeing what it saw and hearing what it heard without being detected. Unfortunately the exertion quickly tired her, but she kept pushing, kept testing her limits. Now she hovered beneath the greasy surface of the entity's presence, listening intently, catching bits of the current conversation.

It made little sense. Demons? Angels? What was going on? Why did this thing want to kill angels, and why was it going after the Winchesters? And just who were the Winchesters, anyway?

The other was called Bethany. Kimberly had managed to intercept some of its thoughts, and her fear grew with that newfound knowledge. It was something she'd never felt this intensely before, not even when her parents had died when she was young. This was different - it was a fear for her own sanity. None of this could really be happening, her rational mind tried to tell her. Somewhere along the way, she must have had some kind of breakdown. Demons and angels weren't real. But this - this felt real. She could feel the thing slither through her thoughts and memories, taking what it needed. Raping her mind. And it was there that she found the Winchesters, and realised that she did in fact know them after all.

They hadn't used their real names when she had met them, but that didn't surprise her considering what they apparently did for a living. That ghost out on Bald Knob Lake Road hadn't fazed them in the least. The strangers seemed to know exactly how to handle the situation - obviously it was something they had dealt with before. And it was there on that dark road, waiting for Dean to return with the rescued boy, that she had first encountered the entity who now glided around her body like some obscene oil slick.

When the group had returned to her grandmother's Inn that night, she had tried to scream, to beg for the mens' help, but the dark thing wouldn't let her. She had heard it laughing in her head, and it was then that Kimberly knew she was on her own.

Now she found herself accepting the impossible - angels and demons were real. Watching the little girl in front of them, she mentally cringed at the far from innocent expression on the child's face and the uttered words that were way beyond her years. The girl's essence was trapped inside that body somewhere, she realised, just as she was trapped in her own. The sick feeling that the thought evoked only fuelled her determination. She had to find a way to prevent this Bethany from achieving her goal. But first, she had to somehow regain control of the body that she had always taken for granted.

And it had to be soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Closing the laptop, Sam sighed in frustration. There was nothing unusual going on as far as he could tell, so there was no reason for Uriel to be around. He glanced at the clock, then turned to watch his sleeping brother. It was well past midnight, and Dean was still in the same position he had been in when Sam had returned with their evening meal. Rubbing weary eyes, Sam switched off the TV and crawled into his own bed, expecting Dean would be up bright and early, anxious to find another job and move on.

-0000-

_He was in a dusty room. Turning slowly, he looked around him, taking in the high ceilings and the stained-glass windows. The window to his right depicted the Madonna and child, and to his left the Archangel Michael. Looking straight ahead, he saw the marble Crucifix; the feet of the Saviour shining with a dark red stain. Swallowing hard he stepped closer, reaching out to lightly rub his fingers over the dark pool. He snapped his hand away quickly, feeling the sticky wetness of the blood; and wiped his hand across his jeans. _

_Laughter echoed around him, chilling him to the bone. Drawing a steadying breath, he walked past the statue and entered the room behind. He could hear a voice and paused, trying to place the familiarity of it. With silent steps, he pushed forward. Suddenly he froze; his stomach clenched, then heaved at the scene before him._

_A woman stood over an elderly man, a knife poised over his open chest, blood pooling around them. She raised her head and smiled. "Hello, Sam." she purred, pushing her copper hair from her brow._

"_Kimberly?" Sam stood transfixed, unsure if he was dreaming or having a vision. Why would he be seeing the young police officer carving up an old man? _

"_Oh, Sammy," the woman giggled. "It's not a dream. Before you start trying to figure out how you can stop this, you can't." Stepping over the body, she made her way towards him. "You see…You're watching in real time, Sammy. You can't save Father Donovan here. Too little - too late." Kimberly moved closer to Sam, placing a bloodied hand on his chest, leaving a crimson stain on his white tee shirt._

"_Why are you doing this?" Pushing her away, Sam started towards the injured man. _

"_Oh, you know how it is…I needed a pure heart. He was here…Opportunity knocked." She looked up at Sam with black eyes. "So I answered."_

"_Who are you?" Sam demanded._

"_That… is for another time." Glaring angrily, Bethany put her hand up. "Tell your brother I said Hi."_

_Sam felt himself falling…_

_-0000-_

Feeling a weight on his arms, Sam growled low in his throat and pushed at the restraint with all his strength. His arms were released, followed by a resounding thud and a series of loudly spoken curses.

"Damnit, Sam. Wake up!"

Snapping his eyes open, Sam found Dean flat on the floor between the two beds, the bedside lamp illuminating his face. He looked sheepishly at the elder Winchester, slowly becoming aware of the situation.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean questioned, getting to his feet.

"I don't know," Sam answered. "Bad dream?"

Dean scowled at his sibling. "A bad dream…" He nodded as he spoke. "You were screaming, 'Who are you' over and over again. What have I told you about watching CSI before bed?"

"Dean…" Sam huffed, getting up.

"Is that blood?" Dean demanded, staring at Sam's chest. "Is it yours? What the hell happened?"

Following the elder man's gaze, Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the bloody handprint. "But it was a dream…" he said softly, touching the print on his shirt. It was still wet. "I don't understand…It was just a dream."

"You better tell me about this dream," Dean replied grimly, pulling his gaze from the soiled shirt to his brother's ashen face.

-0000-

Bethany entered the old church without a sound, not even her footfalls were heard. Scanning the room, she fought the almost overwhelming urge to leave the Holy place; she came to do a job and do it she would. She gazed at the intricately painted windows, and turned away with a shake of her head.

The priest stood at the front of the church, his back to her as he dusted the statue of the crucified Jesus, humming a hymn under his breath. Stepping up behind the man of God, she tapped his shoulder, and dropped a mask of innocence over her features.

He spun around, startled by the silent visitor. Seeing the young woman, he smiled amicably. "Hello, can I help you?"

"Maybe," Bethany murmured demurely. "At least I hope you can, Father Donovan."

Bowing his head slightly he asked, "Do I know you?"

"No, I don't think you do," she whispered. Twirling her copper hair around her finger, she tilted her head to the side. "But you could." Moving closer to him, she stroked his clean-shaven face. "We could get to know each other very, very well." Bethany slid her arms around his neck, pressing her body against the older man. She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his heart quicken. Smiling seductively, she snuggled closer.

Raymond Donovan had been a priest for well over thirty years, and never had he been accosted like this before. As the initial shock began to fade, he quickly launched into action. Gripping the girl's arm gently but firmly, he pushed her away, his grey eyes studying her in astonishment. Unable to find the right words, he shook his head sadly at the woman before him. What could possibly cause a beautiful young girl to behave like that? Throw herself at a man of God?

"What's the matter, Father?" she questioned, her brown eyes sparkling in amusement.

"This…this is wrong," he stammered. "I am a man of God."

Slowly, Bethany trailed a hand along his arm, stopping at his shoulder. "It's okay," she murmured. "No one has to know."

Father Donovan shoved her from him forcefully, looking at her in disgust. "God would know…I would know." He staggered back, watching her alertly.

"To Hell with God," the demon spat.

The old priest looked stricken, silently making the sign of the cross in the air. Such blasphemy within the church. He knew it was his job to help those who needed God's word, but he doubted this one could be reached. The girl laughed at him, a sinister sound that shot fear into his old heart.

"Tell me old man," Bethany snickered. "Does your God protect you? Does he keep you safe?"

"Of course…God protects all His children." Father Donovan fell silent as she laughed again.

"We both know that isn't true," she smirked. "But let's test that theory." Stepping forward, she closed her eyes for a brief moment before opening them to reveal the soulless black orbs of a demon. The woman smiled as the old priest backed away from her, a barely audible whimper caught in his throat. "You have nothing to fear. Remember, God will protect you." Bethany trailed the old priest as he ran to the rectory in the back of the church.

He heard her footsteps as she followed and hurried his pace. Reaching the entry, Father Donovan pushed through to his private rooms, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Not very nice," Bethany called from the other side. Narrowing her eyes, she stretched out her hand as she concentrated her power. The door blew off its hinges, falling inwards and crashing to the floor. She quickly scanned the room, finding her prey standing at an old desk, trembling hands leafing through an ancient book.

"I know what you are," the priest cried, fighting to keep the fear from his tone. "You're the spawn of Hell!"

Rubbing her hands together, the young demon looked thoughtfully at the old priest. "No…Not really." She shook her head. "That's what everyone says you know…But really I'm the spawn of man. Hell just adopted me."

Father Donovan returned his gaze to the book in his hands, searching through the Latin text for the verse he needed, no longer keeping watch on the abomination. Bethany crossed the room and had her hand wrapped around the elder man's throat before he had time to turn the page. Uttering a strangled gasp, he dropped the book to the floor, staring wide-eyed at the girl.

"Do you value life, Father?" Bethany intoned. "More importantly, do you value **your** life?" He tried to pry her hand from his throat, fixing her with a watery gaze as he nodded frantically. Removing her hand from his throat, she smiled. "Very good, old man. We have some business to discuss."

"What do you want from me?" Father Donovan croaked. "I have nothing to offer you."

"Maybe you don't…but the church does. There is a box here…An old wooden box with some very ancient carvings on it." She could see the light of recognition in his eyes. "Ahh yes. You know what I'm talking about. Good. I want it…Now."

The priest lowered his head and began to pray in earnest. He knew the box she referred to, and vowed he would die rather than pass it into evil hands.

"Give me that damned box," Bethany glowered, barely containing her anger. The man continued to pray, his voice growing louder. Releasing an enraged howl, she grabbed Father Donovan, flinging him effortlessly into the wall. She knelt beside him, the light in the room reflecting in her ebony eyes. "You will give me the box…Or you will die! Then I'll tear this church down wall by damned wall until I find it." Still the priest continued to pray.

Taking a deep breath, the demon smiled, and without touching the man, she forced him to look up at her. "You don't care about your life. You don't care about the church. Huh," she mused aloud, tapping a finger on her chin. "What would a priest care about? How would I get him to cooperate?" Slowly, Bethany began to pace, deep in thought. After a few moments she snapped her fingers and crouched next to the Father. "Your flock…" she murmured. "Here's what I have to offer. You give me the box, your congregation lives." Gripping his chin between thumb and index finger, she looked into his terrified eyes. "You don't give me what I want…I start killing off your precious flock…Starting with the youngest."

Father Donovan nodded stiffly, tear-filled eyes watching the woman. "Okay, fine." There was no doubt in his mind that the monster in front of him would do precisely what she threatened. He slowly got to his feet, avoiding the evil being as he trudged back into the main room of the church. Stopping at the base of the statue, he settled to his knees, fingers quickly working the side of the base free. The priest dropped the loose board to the floor next to him and reached beneath the statue.

Bethany crouched next to the priest, gazing at the symbols on the inner side of loosened board, her lips twitching into a mirthless smile. "Bet the Winchesters have never seen these symbols," she said quietly. "Old school white magic? In a church no less." She cast a questioning glance at the priest, shrugging when he didn't answer. "No matter." Her gaze shot back to the symbols. She didn't recognize all of them, but the few she did sent shivers down her spine. It was a good thing she didn't kill the old priest, or she wouldn't have been able to get past the symbols.

Keeping his eyes partially averted, Father Donovan watched the entity discreetly. Seeing that she was engrossed in the symbols, he reached behind the small wooden box, his fingers wrapping around a small vial nestled in the tiny space. He brought his hand to his lap, removed the cork from the glass vessel and swung around, splashing the sweet-smelling liquid on the demon.

Jumping to her feet, Bethany screamed in agony. She stared in shock at the smouldering skin on her hand and arm, smoke rising from where the fluid had made contact. Tugging her blouse off, she wiped at the droplets, tears streaming from her eyes. The more she tried to rub it off, the more it burned, seeping into her flesh. Glaring angrily at the man, she flicked her hand in his direction, raising him into the air before tossing him hard against the statue. Blood flowed from Father Donovan's head, pooling on the feet of Christ.

"You'll pay for this, you miserable son of a bitch!" Bethany screeched. Levitating the old man into the air again, she picked up the vial he had dropped. She held it up, looking at the liquid before placing it in her pocket. Thankfully the priest had taken the time to recap it after the assault. She glanced up at the man hovering above her. "What is that stuff? It sure wasn't Holy water."

Raymond Donovan remained silent as he fixed his gaze on the face of the statue, wondering if it was possible to give himself Last Rites. Murmuring softly, he began confessing his transgressions, begging the Heavenly Father for final forgiveness. The sixty-three year old man knew in his heart that this was his last day on Earth.

Bethany reached under the statue and pulled out the wooden box, a triumphant smile lighting her face. Letting the priest drop to the floor, she motioned to the rectory. "After you," she cooed. The old man led the way, the demon following close behind humming cheerily to herself.

-0000-

"Was it a vision?" Dean asked, setting a mug of steaming coffee in front of his brother.

Sam raised his head. "I don't know," he answered. "It didn't feel like a vision…It didn't feel like a dream either." He rubbed his temple, his hazel eyes looking to Dean for answers. "Even if it was a vision…How the hell did I get the blood on my shirt?"

"That's the million dollar question," Dean replied, sitting in the chair across from his baby brother. "You said Kimberly was killing some old dude in a church?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam huffed in frustration. "A priest, Dean. She was possessed and killed a priest - in his church."

"Kimberly? The cop chick?" Dean questioned again.

"Yes…The cop from Bald Knob. Apparently she kills Catholic priests in her spare time," Sam grumbled.

"Huh." The older hunter leaned back in his chair. "But you don't think it's a vision, and you woke up with blood on your shirt where she touched you."

Raking a hand through his dark hair, Sam glared at his brother. "We've gone over this a thousand times. I don't know what it means…"

"I think we need to find Kimberly for starters." Putting the mug to his mouth, Dean took a swallow of the strong brew before adding. "And I think the sooner the better…Just in case this was one of your freaky visions."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam replied half-heartedly, his mind wandering in a continuous loop. It had seemed so real, he had felt the blood when he'd touched the statue, the warmth of Kimberly's hand when she'd touched him. None of his visions had ever had this kind of interaction; it was as if he was actually there. Something was really off, and he didn't know how to explain it.

"Pack your crap, Sammy," Dean cut into his thoughts, rising from the chair.

"Where are we going?" the younger man asked, bewildered. "We don't know where she is."

Rinsing the cup, Dean set it in the sink then turned to face his brother. "I guess we start where we met her…" Dean smirked. "We're going to Bald Knob."

"Before going half-cocked in the wrong direction, give me a couple hours to try to find Father Donovan," Sam sighed, opening the laptop.

"You got a first name? Cause I think it may be hard tracking someone with last name only." Dean crossed the room, picking up his bag.

"Just a couple hours, Dean," Sam responded, with a quick glance at his watch. "It's not even six-thirty yet. Why don't you go pick up some breakfast?"

Tossing clothes into the duffle, Dean sighed. "Fine. It would be easier to just get something on the road…But fine." He dropped the bag on the bed, and reached for his car keys.

-0000-

Bethany leaned back in the seat of the blue sedan, watching the older Winchester climb into the Impala and leave the parking lot. Rubbing her temples, she straightened, her lips curling into a strained smile - the youngest was alone. Her hand found the door handle, pulling the lever; she shouldered the door open and stepped from the car. Gasping in pain, Bethany gripped her head in both hands, bending over at the waist as the essence of Kimberly rallied against her.

Inhaling deeply, the demon gathered her strength and pushed at the soul, trying to block it from the forefront of her mind. She was starting to think the job would be harder than originally anticipated, especially after she had taken the dagger from the box. Lillith had told her that in order for her to use the knife she would first have to face her greatest foe. What the ancient entity neglected to tell her was her greatest enemy was herself - her own memories. Memories from Hell and from before - everything she had done - living and dead. And if her life and afterlife wasn't bad enough, she had to contend with Kimberly's recollections as well.

Straightening, Bethany slammed the car door and leaned against the fender, resting her hands on the hood. There was a lot that Lillith had forgotten to mention - not that it would've mattered. Bethany was determined to get her revenge - her own survival wasn't necessary. However, the little obstacle of not being able to leave the meat suit did cause a problem. She had felt it the moment it had happened, the shared memories being the catalyst that had bound her to the body.

Deciding to deal with that little technicality later, she pushed away from the car and crossed the road, walking towards the motel and the loan Winchester inside.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N Okay this chap has a scene some have described as gross. So just a warning for a yuck-factor. _

**Chapter 10**

Dean pushed through the door, quickly scanning the empty diner before taking a seat at the counter. Turning from the coffee pot, the middle-aged waitress pushed the strands of ash blond hair from her brow. She smiled at the young hunter before picking up a menu and laying it in front of him.

Opening the menu, Dean returned her smile, dropping his gaze to her nametag before speaking. "So Carol, what's good today?"

"Everything of course," the waitress replied, snatching a cup and saucer from the overhead shelf. "Shawn - our cook - is running a little late this morning. Would you like a coffee while you wait?" Carol set the cup on the counter, picking up the coffee pot when he nodded his assent. "He should be here soon," she assured him, pouring the aromatic liquid into the mug.

Dean looked up from the menu, and with a quick thanks to the woman he raised the cup to his lips. Hearing the door open, the hunter glanced over his shoulder at the two elderly men entering the diner.

"Hey Archie…Bud," Carol called, setting out two mugs. "Having the usual today?"

Passing a cursory glance at Dean, the aging men sat at the counter. "Yup, the usual," the larger of the two answered.

"How about you, hon?" the waitress asked the younger man, pen poised over her order pad. "You know what you want?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, closing the menu. "I'll take egg and sausage sandwich, a side of bacon, an order of blueberry pancakes and two coffees…to go."

"Okay," Carol smiled, jotting down the order. A thump resounding from the kitchen alerted the small group to the cook's presence. "And that commotion would be the great Shawn," the woman said with a wave of her hand. "It'll be a few minutes, hon. You want a refill on that coffee?"

Dean slid the empty mug across the counter. "That would be great." He smiled warmly. "I'm gonna go sit in one of the booths." Taking the refreshed coffee, the hunter slid into a corner booth, listening to the quiet ramblings of the diner patrons.

The din of the eating establishment eased Dean with its sense of familiarity and he found himself gazing out the window, reflecting on the earlier events. For the first time in weeks, he hadn't relived the torturous nightmares when he had closed his eyes. He had dreamt of a different part of his life in Hell, a part he had tried to bury along with the visions of blood and anguish.

Closing his eyes, the young hunter could see her strawberry blond curls, her passionate amber eyes and that devil-may-care smile she sported defiantly. Beth. His cohort and partner in crime. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean opened his eyes, willing his thoughts in a different direction. He didn't want to think about her, he didn't want to relive the things they had done together when he had finally accepted his fate - accepted her.

Dean jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, whipping his head around to face the person intruding on his private reveries. Seeing the harried waitress holding his bagged order, he smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, hon," she spoke softly. "Didn't mean to startle you. Your order is ready."

"That's okay," Dean responded, standing to retrieve his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. Glancing at the bill attached to the take-out bag, he counted out the money, leaving a considerable tip. He passed the cash to Carol, and took the paper bag from her hand. With a thin-lipped smile and a quick nod, the green-eyed Winchester left the small diner.

Sliding behind the wheel of the black classic, Dean closed the door, tossing the take-out onto the seat beside him as he leaned forward to slip the key into the ignition. He heard her laugh before the smells assaulted his senses. Swallowing thickly, he dropped his hand from the ignition and waited, his heart pounding against his ribs. The experience from the previous day had taught him that there would be no avoiding what was about to come; there was nothing he could do to prevent the nightmares. He couldn't fight it - he was too weak.

The laughter echoed in the interior of the Impala, invading his sanctuary, proving there was no escape. His own mind was turning traitor, taking away the security he had always felt in his baby - his safe haven becoming his prison.

-0000-

_Dean unfastened the straps that had held the soul to the table, before pushing the lifeless slab to the floor. Raising his head, he cast a quick glance around the room, calling to his subordinate, "Clean up - aisle one!" He grabbed the rag from his tray, swiftly wiping up the pool of blood while he waited for the minion to take the meat away. _

_He heard the approach of the creature long before it had entered his peripheral vision and shook his head in disgust. The grey gelatinous mass slithered to the body, leaving a slimy slug-like trail in its wake, its black eyes showing no hint of intelligence. Dean shuddered, his gaze fixed on the creature, its blobbed form reminding him of cold, congealed gravy._

_Watching the viscous creature slowly schlep away, with the carcass in tow, Dean failed to see any humanoid signs. It didn't have any kind of recognizable limbs, and it oozed across the floor. The sludge-man could create limbs to grasp with, then return them into its mass, leaving no discernible features. Dean didn't care what Beth said, there was no way that thing was once human. _

_Bethany had called the lowly creatures Sludge-men and Jell-O-boys, curling her pert nose in revulsion. When he had asked where the creatures had come from, she was more than willing to share the information. The giant masses of goo were once souls - souls that had gone insane, losing touch with everything they once were. In the living world, they would have been catatonic, but here there were no such luxuries. Instead, the mindless creatures became slaves, cleaning up behind those who had remained intact._

_Not all souls who had lost their grip became Sludge-men; some kept their form and remembered parts of what - or who they once were. These were the chaos demons, wrecking havoc for no other reason than the pleasure it gave them. Fighting amongst themselves and the mortals topside, chaos demons thrived on confusion and pain._

_Returning his attention to his workstation, the young tormenter prepared for the next victim to arrive. His thoughts straying to the woman he had become very fond of, Dean turned in her direction, smiling while he waited for the petite blonde to notice him._

_Bethany stood a few feet away, finishing the job in front of her before looking up to meet his gaze. Reading the unspoken message in his green eyes, her face lit up in a radiant smile. The past two years they had been inseparable, much to Alastair's dismay. The young pre-demon knew that the head torturer had wanted Dean to finish turning her, to complete the transformation that she had somehow held at bay. Instead, unknown to Alastair, she had encouraged Dean to hold onto his own humanity. _

_Wiping bloodied hands across the back of her jeans, she sauntered to her tutor's side. "So," she murmured. Leaning across the man who had been dropped onto Dean's bench, she strapped his arms to the table. "I hear you got privacy privileges tonight."_

_Nodding, Dean restrained the soul's legs. "Yeah. I heard you're on shit detail." Standing, he looked into her eyes, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face. "What'd you do this time?" _

_The torture rooms ran twenty-four, seven, with no rest for the weary, condemned souls. Because of the never-ending bloodletting, the stone floors had to be hosed down regularly or they'd be standing in blood, guts and excrement ankle deep. Usually, lackeys - newly released from the racks, handled the hosing of the various chambers. Sometimes, the chore was handed out as a reprimand, for mild disobedience. Which Bethany seemed inclined to on a habitual basis._

_Ignoring his question, Beth smiled smugly, tilting her head. "What would you say if I told you I got out of it?"_

"_You did?" Dean asked, green orbs shining impishly. "How'd you swing that?"_

"_Well, I offered a few favours…I'll be working shit detail for a few days." The woman shrugged happily. "It'll be worth it."_

_Sobering, Dean observed the girl intently. "What about Alastair. You know he won't go for you getting out of your punishment."_

"_That's the beauty of it," Bethany laughed. "He got summoned - Topside." She tried to suppress her giggles, picturing the head of the torture chambers being forced to walk on the surface. He was one of the few demons she had met who actually enjoyed Hell and the positions they held there. "So you know as well as I do, he's gonna be pissed when he gets back anyway."_

_Momentarily forgetting about the man on his worktable, the young butcher pulled the girl into a warm embrace. Stooping considerably, Dean rested his chin on top of the much shorter figure's head. "Damn girl," he muttered softly. "You keep going the way you are, and Alastair will put that cute ass of yours right back on the rack."_

_Wrapping her arms around his waist, she moved to see his face. "Mmmm…but you wouldn't let that happen would you?" Beth smiled affectionately at the tall man. "You're my knight in shining armour."_

_Dean groaned, stepping back from the mutual hug. "I got you out of it once," he replied, shaking his head. "It wouldn't work a second time."_

_Beth touched his hand, becoming serious. "You know I try, right?" she asked hesitantly. "Sometimes my mouth goes before my brain kicks in…but I'm trying."_

_The former demon hunter's lips twitched into a half smile. He knew she was trying; even more so since their talk a few months ago, when Dean had vowed he wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. Promising he would always be there to keep her safe and remind her to shut her pie-hole when need be. "I know… Just try to count before you say anything, maybe your brain'll kick in by the time you hit ten." _

_Flashing a bright smile, Beth stepped back, a challenging glint in her amber eyes. "So…Let the competition begin." Without waiting for his response, she returned to her workstation and the fresh soul hanging nearby._

_Dean approached the man confined to the table, chuckling softly to himself. The challenge had been made, now he had to step up to the plate. It was a game they had started a long time ago. Whenever they were about to have time off together, they'd compete to see who got the best screams from their victims. The winner got to choose their leisure activities. So far, he was the reigning champion, and he intended to keep it that way._

_Gathering the items he needed, the young tyrant set to work fastening the metal implements to the soul's legs. The apparatus ran from knee to ankle, the metal wedges designed to crush the bones beneath the skin on impact. Smiling, Dean picked up the maul. Hefting the weight, he slammed the large hammer repeatedly onto the metal plates. Feeding on the agonized screams as if it was his last meal, the sadist continued until he grew tired, and the screams of his victim became hoarse._

_Dean dropped the heavy hammer to the floor and wiped the sweat from his brow. Hearing a blood-curdling scream, he turned to survey Bethany's station. Her strawberry blond head was bent over the woman as she murmured something in the soul's ear. When Beth stood, Dean released an involuntary gasp. In her hands she cradled a large rat, calmly rubbing the fur between its eyes with the tip of one finger. _

_He watched transfixed, unable to turn from the grotesque scene. The amber-eyed tormentor sat the rat on the woman's stomach before covering it with a metal bowl. Using tongs, Beth picked up the hot coals, lining the outside of the dish. _

_Shaking off his stupor, Dean called to his companion. "What are you doing with a freakin' rat?"_

_Beth smiled, casting a glance over her shoulder. "You'll see…I bet this chick will scream her fool head off."_

_Despite his aversion to rats, Dean found himself deeply intrigued by the method his fellow torturer was using. Inhaling deeply, he moved closer to Beth's station, keeping an eye on the dish in case the rodent should escape. He soon realized his concern was unwarranted. The bowl was securely fastened - the rat had only one way out. _

"_Jesus, Beth," he breathed, drawing a little closer while she continued placing hot coals on the metal container. They could hear the muted cries of the rat as the metal heated, making the rodent uncomfortable. A split second before the woman bound to the table screamed, Dean was sure he heard a wet chewing sound. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked at Beth. "I am sooo glad you weren't here when I was on the rack." Running a hand across his mouth, he shook his head at the female butcher. Turning towards his table, Dean paused. "By the way…that don't count," he said with a smirk._

"_What do you mean it don't count?" Bethany demanded, heatedly. "A scream is a scream."_

"_Oh no. __**You**__ have to make her scream…" the green -eyed man responded. "Not the rat. I'll be damned if I'll spend my free time hanging out with a rat." Laughing at her outraged expression, he returned to the barely conscious man on his own worktable. _

_Removing the apparatus, Dean grinned, his eyes shining coldly. The soul's legs had been reduced to little more than flesh. The bones had completely disintegrated beneath the skin that hung flaccidly around the muscle and blood beneath. Advancing to the head of the table, Dean looked into the face of his victim, noting the vitality in the suffering man's eyes. _Good, _Dean thought to himself. There was still fight in the tortured soul, giving Dean more time to play. _

"_Have you ever seen one of these?" the tormentor asked, holding an odd shaped device. "It's kinda similar to what I did to your legs…but it goes on your head." The brief flash of terror in the soul's eyes revitalized the young torturer and he hummed a _Metallica_ tune while he hooked up the instrument. "You wanna know the coolest thing about this? Beth said that if it's done just right… your eyes will pop right out…What do you think, wanna try?" Dean was more interested in a hands on approach, but he had found that inducing fear heightened the senses. Then they really squirmed._

_After tightening the helmet part of the skull crushing apparatus, Dean selected his favourite blade. Moving to stand at the foot of the table, he whistled cheerily. There were some lacerations on the soul's legs where the skin had split, blood and sinewy cords left exposed. Deftly, he wielded the knife, slicing into the loose folds of skin, poking and prodding at the mass of ligaments and tendons. He slowly made his way along the entire surface of the body, removing all skin, cutting tendons and any other object that caught his interest. Losing track of time, he heard only the screams and pleas of the soul as he quenched his morbid curiosity._

_Hearing a sudden squeal, Dean looked up. Bethany stood laughing, pushing her hair behind her ear while gazing at the floor. He looked at the woman on the table. Her mouth was wide and slightly chewed - the rat had escaped. Dean's heart skipped a beat. Peering at the surface around his feet, he hoped the missing rat wasn't anywhere near his station._

_-0000-_

"I say forget about demon-boy and let whatever happens happen," the dark-skinned divine being grumbled.

"You know our orders." Castiel shot him a contemptuous look. "Sam is in danger…I can sense his apprehension. I can't tell if the demon is with him or not."

Uriel grunted. "Why are we wasting our time with him?"

"There is no time to argue," Castiel admonished. "You will obey orders."

"I still think we'd be better off to let him die," Uriel muttered darkly. Seeing the anger in the other angel's face, the specialist reluctantly conceded, "It's against my better judgement…but orders are orders." With an angry nod, Uriel turned to the motel, to protect a man he'd rather see dead.

Castiel watched his companion for a moment, praying the angel didn't let his own feelings impede their mission. Sighing, the weary Angel of the Lord went in search of the elder Winchester.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N Sorry for taking so long to update. I was having a touch of writer's block on the next chapter. But I think I have finally muddled through. So thanks to all that are reading. *hugs all*  
_

**Chapter 11 **

Sam was in the bathroom when he heard someone in the main room. Leaning back slightly, he called over his shoulder, "Be right out." He quickly finished with his business and turned to wash his hands. "You were right," he called again. "I couldn't pinpoint Father Donovan." Drying his hands, the young hunter moved towards the door, wondering why his brother hadn't made any smart-assed comments in reply.

Opening the door, Sam continued talking without turning to look at the person in the room. "So I called Nana…and she doesn't know where Kimberly is. She went missing right after we left…" His voice trailed off as he moved to the kitchen area, his gaze falling on the possessed Kimberly instead of his older brother.

"How the hell did you get in here?" Sam sputtered, turning his head to examine the salt lines, noticing the line in front of the door had been disturbed.

She smiled coldly, her eyes taking on an odd colour, not quite brown and not quite black - a strange swirling mixture of the two. "A police badge comes in handy… I just flashed it to the manager and he let me in. Of course when he unlocked the door, he opened it for me…Breaking your protective little line." The demon quickly crossed the room. Coming to a halt in front of Sam; she slid her hand across his face. "I've heard so much about you, Sam," she murmured, lightly tapping his cheek.

"Really," the hunter replied, feigning disinterest. "And what have you heard?" Taking a step back, Sam narrowed his hazel orbs. "Oh let me guess…I was supposed to lead some stupid demon army, and when I refused, Lillith stepped up and now she wants my head on a stick…And you're gonna give it to her."

Bethany laughed softly. "I don't give a flying f**k about Lillith…Or your supposed demon expelling abilities." She cocked her head to the side. "I don't really want to kill you. But I may have to…for my own personal reasons."

Sam quickly scanned the area, trying to remember if Dean had taken the demon-killing knife with him or if it was somewhere in the room. He walked casually towards the beds - and the weapons bag. "Personal reasons, huh?" Sam asked, trying to keep the demon talking and distracted. "What did I ever do to you?"

Beth quirked an eyebrow, watching the young hunter in amusement. He obviously thought he had her fooled with his innocent act, but then, he didn't know whom he was dealing with. She waited until Sam sat on the bed; discreetly trying to grasp the bag, then flicked her wrist, slamming him against the wall before letting him drop to the floor.

Sam scrambled to his feet, anger burning in his hazel eyes. He was getting damned tired of being flung around like yesterdays trash. Every time he and his brother encountered a supernatural entity, he ended up being slammed into a wall - ground - whatever hard surface was available. The youngest Winchester raised his head to glare at the demon, clenching his fists at his sides.

The being wearing Kimberly Richards' meat smiled at the raging man. She could feel him gathering his energy - planning to use his powers against her. Lifting her hand, palm facing the young hunter, she flexed her mental muscles and pinned Sam to the wall.

Bethany surveyed the room, unhappy with the sparse furnishings. The room contained two beds, a very unsteady card table, a couple kitchen chairs and a small TV sitting on a rickety looking stand. Not much to work with at all, none of the chairs looked strong enough to hold the angry Sam Winchester. And for what she had planned, he needed to be securely restrained.

Keeping a portion of her thoughts on maintaining her psychic hold on the tall hunter, the young demon studied the beds, nodding her approval at the solid head and footboards. They would do nicely; she was accustomed to her participants being horizontal anyway.

Returning her attention to the man against the wall, she flashed a menacing smile. "So, do you feel like cooperating or will I have to use force?"

"Go to Hell," Sam growled, struggling against the invisible bonds.

Bethany clapped her hands gleefully. "Oh goody," she gushed. "I love it when my clientele have spunk." Her brown-black eyes sparkled. "It makes the game so much more fun…" Turning, the demon beckoned with her hand. The young hunter felt his body move forward, gliding across the dingy carpeting towards the bed closest to the door - Dean's bed.

Once she got the youngest Winchester lying on the bed, Beth looked down at the figure thoughtfully. Pursing her lips, she reached her hands forward, nimbly unbuckling the belt at his waist. Sam automatically withdrew trying to push his body further into the bed and away from the demon's touch. His eyes widened when he felt his belt loosened and pulled through the loops of his jeans.

Feeling the young man tense, Beth deposited the belt on the bed and turned to see his face, her grim lips moving into an amused smile when she realized what the hunter was thinking. She gently ran her fingertips along his jaw and down his neck, stopping at the collar of his tee shirt. With a wink, she grasped the garment in both hands, ripping it open to expose his muscular torso.

"What are you doing?" Sam gasped, struggling to shift his body away from her touch. He could move everything but his arms and legs, which were restrained against the head and footboards - psychically tied.

"Just relax," Beth cooed, lightly dragging her fingernails from his chest to his abdomen. She could feel the young man's heart ramming into overdrive as he dug into the core of his being, focussing on removing the invisible bonds.

Snatching up the leather belt, the dark entity moved to the headboard. She gripped his right wrist firmly and quickly fastened it to the wood frame. Satisfied that he couldn't slip free, Beth reached for the destroyed tee shirt. Realizing Sam's arms were still in the sleeves, she slid her hand under the pillow and found Dean's knife, triumphantly pulling it free

Sam stared at Beth, his jaw dropping in surprise. She had reached beneath the pillow in total confidence, expecting the blade to be there - but how had she known Dean kept his knife there?

Using the older brother's Bowie knife, the demon made quick work of the cloth, freeing it from Sam's arms and tearing it into strips. She now had what she needed to finish securing the hunter to the bed.

After using the makeshift straps to confine the youngest Winchester, Bethany released her psychic hold and sagged wearily onto the bed next to him. Looking at him, she sighed. "Do you happen to have a pen, marker or perhaps some ochre? Ochre would be better…"

Sam raised his head, staring at the demon incredulously - she was clearly insane. The bitch had just tied him to the bed, then casually requested writing materials. With an inward groan, the hunter dropped his head back on the pillow, refusing to answer.

Shrugging, Beth tugged her lip pensively before tilting her head and speaking. "You're right…I shouldn't use inks or ochre. That'd be so….temporary." She leaned in until her face was mere inches from the young man's. "We should have something permanent, that way there will be no future surprises." Pausing, the demon regarded him sadly. "Still, it'll be a pity to mar that pretty forehead…" Sitting back, she picked up Dean's knife, thinking of the irony - Dean's weapon being used on his precious baby brother. She placed the tip of the blade on Sam's forehead, over the _third eye_.

Sam flinched, feeling the point of cold steel against his skin, and drew in a steadying breath. The demon smiled down at him, almost sadly, while applying just enough pressure to break the skin and draw blood. Hissing in pain, the young hunter turned away from the cutting blade, feeling the warm trickle of blood as it flowed to the surface.

"Don't move…" Bethany whispered. "I don't want to hurt you more than necessary…at least not yet." She gripped his chin with pure demonic strength, pulling his head back and holding it in place.

"Why are you doing this," Sam questioned, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I did ask for a pen, remember," the demon answered flippantly. "But you wouldn't cooperate…" Sighing, she concentrated on the symbol she was painstakingly etching into the man's forehead.

"What are you carving on me?" the young Winchester demanded, his jaw clenched against the sting of the blade.

"What…this?" she drawled innocently. "Just a little symbol to keep you put. I have to go get something from the car, and I can't have you astral projecting to your brother."

Sam stared at her in confusion. _Astral projection? _

Picking up a piece of the tee shirt she hadn't used, she gently wiped the blood from his forehead. "I didn't even know you were capable of astral projection…So many things you keep to yourself." Shaking her head, she studied the symbol. "Then you popped in on me and Father Donovan - that's when I realized. You're gathering quite a collection of abilities, Sammy."

"It's Sam," the young man bit out, glaring defiantly at the copper-haired demon as he began to piece together what she was saying. What he had seen in the dark hours of the morning wasn't a dream, or vision. He had somehow left his physical body - had actually been there, witnessing the death of the priest.

"So this little picture on your head will keep you in your body… And believe me, you'll be screaming to be out of it before I'm done," Beth continued, not acknowledging that he had spoken. Patting his shoulder apologetically, she stood up. "Now I just need to jump to the car for a minute…Don't go away."

Sam blinked and she vanished.

With the demon gone, and the threat of supernatural energies no longer hanging over his head, the youngest Winchester tugged at his restraints in earnest. He had to find a way to break free of his captor and find his brother. Sweat beaded on his brow, stinging the freshly carved wound. Turning his head, Sam tried to wipe the perspiration onto his upper arm, a faint gasp escaping his lips when the burning sensation increased on contact.

Sam shifted his body, trying to get a better view of the ties holding his extremities in place.

"Don't be silly, you can't get out of that…" Bethany stood at the foot of the bed, a wooden box clutched in her hands. "Just look at those knots, Sammy. I had a real good teacher. No one could tie better knots than The Flesher... And he taught me well." Approaching the bed head, she placed the box on the nightstand before quickly checking Sam's bindings. "See? No getting out."

"My name is Sam," he snarled at the demon. His arms were beginning to ache, a dull throb from wrists to shoulders. He tried to relax, hoping to alleviate the strain on the muscles in his upper arms. Closing his eyes, he thought of his brother, wondering what was taking the older hunter so long. A chill travelled through his body as fear for his sibling took hold of his thoughts. Dean should've been back by now. Had something happened to him? What if this demon wasn't working alone? His imagination began to kick in, images of his brother injured or worse flashing through his mind.

With renewed determination, the young hunter opened his eyes and pulled against the restraints. He gasped as the leather cut into his wrist, releasing a slick flow of blood. Sam stopped struggling, trying to create a different plan of escape. Breathing deeply, he convinced himself that his brother was fine and would be back soon and together they'd kick this demon's ass.

Ignoring the actions of her hostage, the demon lowered herself to the floor between the beds before pulling the weapons bag into her lap. "To show you what else I learned, I'm going to need a few tools." She slowly rifled through the bag, taking out the weapons that caught her interest. Hauling a handgun from the depths of the canvas carryall, Beth raised her gaze to her captive audience. "Guns are too impersonal, don't you think?" Tossing the gun onto the floor, she dug deeper into the duffel.

_Sighing, she dropped the knapsack to the floor and studied the tools she had selected. There were a few knives, a machete and very little else that would suit her needs. Shaking her head in disappointment, she got to her feet and began clearing off the bedside stand, leaving the box where it lay. The demon picked up the zippered shaving kit smiling as she looked at the items inside. The razor blades wouldn't be much use unless she removed them from the handles, but if she remembered correctly, aftershave could hurt like a son of a bitch on an open wound._

Sam focussed on the possessed woman, his gaze following her every move while she arranged the weapons on the stand. The earlier fear for his brother was now matched by a growing sense of horror as he watched her meticulously examine each blade, checking sharpness and wiping them clean. The hunter swallowed hard, knowing what was coming next, and unable to stop it.

Beth picked up the lamp, intending to deposit it on the other bed, but the cord caught her attention. "How much power travels through these cords?" she asked Sam curiously. The young man's face paled considerably, his wide hazel eyes staring at her in disbelief. The demon's lips curled into an eerie smile. "I guess I have my answer…I would say a lot. Maybe even a painful amount?" Snickering, she pulled the plug from the wall and cut the cord from the base of the lamp. She peeled the plastic coating from the wires, then returned the plug to the outlet.

"This should be fun," she murmured. "My teacher always said there are all kinds tools…one need only be creative and improvise…I guess he was right." Laying the exposed wire on the nightstand, she picked up the Bowie knife and moved to Sam's side. Starting at his ankle Beth ran the blade along the pantleg to the wastband, slicing easily through the denim, carefully avoiding his skin. Moving to the other side, she repeated the process.

Beth looked down at her victim solemnly. "Now, in order for me to get these jeans out of the way, I'm gonna need to cut the seams at the groin…Think you can hold still?" The demon moved to the middle of the bed, gently pulling the material away from his skin.

"Wait!" Sam shouted. "You can just pull them off… I'll help. See?" The panicked man arched his back, lifting his bottom from the bed to enable the woman to tug the material free, leaving him in just his boxers. Closing his eyes, Sam took a deep breath; he had to find away to stall the demon at least until his brother came. And Dean would come, he always did. Granted he was really pressing his luck here - if Dean was waiting for the last minute rescue, the time had come.

The demon stood beside the bed, her gaze trailing the solid body of the youngest Winchester. She could finally say she had met them all, and after today she'd have tortured them all as well, and was saving the best for last. The most painful torture for the oldest Winchester boy would be to find his precious baby brother, carved and bleeding, barely holding on to the minuscule threads of his life.

Brushing the hair from her eyes, Beth brought the knife forward, pressing the blade into the hunter's chest. Slowly, she ran the knife down his torso, stopping at his hip. The cut wasn't deep; only a thin line of blood seeped to the surface. Listening to the barely audible whimper from the man on the bed, the woman smiled, inhaling a cleansing breath. Returning the blade to the starting point, she pressed a little harder, making a slightly deeper cut alongside the first. Halfway down Sam's chest she halted abruptly, hearing a loud crack and the sound of splintering wood.

Bethany turned to face the door as it blew off its hinges to land on the table in the centre of the room. Her brown-black eyes widened in surprise when the dark man entered the room, his threatening glare focussed on her. In less than a second he was towering over her, his large hand against her head. The demon struggled to draw in a breath, the heart of the meat suit slowing to a dangerously low rate.

Fumbling slightly, her fingers grazed the lid of the box on the stand, but she couldn't open it. Her thoughts were jumbled and she had to fight the urge to close her eyes and give into the darkness beyond her conciousness. Beth imagined the box in her mind, concentrating on what was inside. With a surge of desperation, she reached for it again. This time she got it open and grabbed the glass vial nestled inside. She quickly thumbed the cork from the top and being careful not to spill it on herself, she splashed the liquid into the dark man's face.

The young hunter had raised his head when he heard the door practically blow apart, announcing the angel's arrival. Watching Uriel grab the demon and lay his hand on her head in his vanquishing grip, Sam felt a moment of relief and sagged against the restraints. The sudden baritone screams of agony shook the young man to the core of his being, his hazel eyes staring in shock as smoke rolled off the divine being. Uriel's hands were over his face as he continued his anguished cries.

Sam turned his horrified gaze to the demon. She stood stock still, her chest heaving as she gasped for air holding the bottle firmly in one hand. Taking a shaky breath, Beth searched for the cork and quickly capped the bottle, making sure it was completely dry before shoving it into her pocket. Raising a trembling hand to her face, the demon mopped the sweat from her forehead and squared her shoulders. She retrieved the bowie knife from where she had dropped it, and advanced determinedly on the still screaming angel.

Coming to a halt in front of the massive man, Beth grabbed a fistful of his jacket and pushed him against the wall. With a shout of rage, she drove the bowie knife through the jacket, just below the vessel's armpit, and into the plaster behind him. Uriel's screams tapered off to a whimper, and he dropped his large hands to his sides.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. The larger-than-life angel looked defeated; his face and hands were burnt and the normally dark eyes were infused with a cloudy haze. Feeling his panic building, the hunter concentrated on breathing, thinking only of each inhale and exhale. After seeing what the demon could do to an angel of Uriel's stature, Sam no longer believed that he going to get out alive.

"Hurts, don't it? It's called qeres," the woman gloated. "Don't worry…there's no permanent damage to the meat." Tittering, Beth walked to the nightstand and her collection of weaponry, selected another knife and returned to the angel. "You, on the other hand, are gonna feel a bit weak and a little groggy and disorientated for quite a few days…If I let you live that long." She drove the second knife through the angel's clothes on the other side, effectively pinning him to the wall.

"Oh, I almost forgot…" The demon withdrew the vial from her pocket, holding it up for Uriel to see. "Keep your hands to yourself, and no more owies. Can you handle that, big guy?" The angel dropped his gaze in defeat, keeping his tender hands at his sides. Uncorking the container, she dripped the liquid onto the hilts of the knives. "There…Now you won't be tempted to pull them out to get free…" Holding the bottle up, she noted there was less than a quarter left.

As she recapped it, she looked into Uriel's eyes. "Gotta save that for a very special angel." Placing the bottle in her pocket, she smiled. "When are Castiel and Dean gonna get here anyway?"

Uriel grunted, turning his head away from the woman.

"Aww…Uriel. I had heard so much about you…Aren't you the Great Smiter of demons and piss-hole towns? Yet you stand here silently…I must say I'm very disappointed." Spinning on her heel, she looked at the open entryway in disgust. "Uriel, you stupid son of a bitch…You blew the damn door off its hinges," the young demon fumed. "How the hell can I play with Sammy if the whole damn world can look in?" Grabbing the door, she leaned it against its post, to shield the room from curious eyes, grumbling to herself about the inconvenience of it all.

Returning to the barely clothed hunter, she patted his leg and shook her head. "I'm sorry, hun. But Uriel has gone and ruined all our fun." She suddenly smiled. "But don't worry…once your brother and his angel get here, we'll go to a much more private place…Then we'll all have fun."

-0000-

Castiel appeared in the passenger's seat of the Impala; it had taken very little time and effort for him to find his charge. He looked at the young man in the driver's seat and felt a moment of trepidation. Dean sat unmoving, his eyes staring straight ahead, seeing nothing of the present, his face drawn and pale as he continued to relive the horrors of Hell.

The angel watched him with concerned eyes, briefly feeling a pang of sympathy for the man. Shaking off the emotions, Castiel touched Dean's forhead, willing the man back to the current time and situation. As an afterthought, the impassive angel surrounded his young charge with a quiet tranquility to ease the turmoil within his mind. Telling himself that it was because he needed the young hunter aware and focussed, and not because he had grown fond of the older Winchester, he waited patiently for Dean to return to the present.

Dean blinked slowly, squinting when he became aware of the early morning sun glaring through the windshield. He felt slightly off, not sure where he was or what he had been doing. Taking a moment to regain his bearings, the hunter began to survey the area. He realized he was still in the diner parking lot, and he wasn't alone. Tensing, he gripped the butt of the gun in his coat pocket before turning to face his company.

Exhaling in relief when he recognized his uninvited guest, Dean let go of the gun and pulled his hand from his pocket, raking it through his short sandy hair. "Damn it, Cas," he hissed. "Seriously, I'm getting you a bell."

The angel regarded the man in mild confusion. "Your brother may be in trouble," he said softly.

Dean's irritation with the angel quickly dissipated, concern for his brother taking its place. "What do you mean?" the hunter demanded. "What's wrong with Sam? Where is he? What happened?" Bringing the Impala to life as he spoke, Dean dropped the shifter in drive and peeled out of the parking lot before Castiel had a chance to answer.

"I'm not sure," Castiel responded his blue eyes watching the scenery fly by. "I could sense his fear…but I don't know what frightened him." The angel turned to the hunter, a deep sadness in his face. "I sent Uriel in to help, while I came for you."

Turning his head, Dean glared at the angel. "Uriel? You sent Uriel?" Looking back at the road, the young man grumbled angrily, "Why send any help at all? We both know how that sanctimonious son of a bitch feels about Sammy."

"Dean," Castiel spoke softly, voice devoid of emotion. "Uriel may be blunt, and obdurate in his opinions, but he is still an Angel of the Lord…and he will follow orders."

Sighing heavily, the young hunter scrubbed a hand across his jaw, focussing on the road. "Do you have any idea what we could be dealing with?"

"I'm not certain," the angel said hesitantly. "However, there was a demon trailing you. I'm not sure what she was after."

"A demon?" Dean asked incredulously. "You knew a demon was following us and you didn't think it important enough to tell us? Hell, if you were to busy you coulda sent an email or a text message…" Dean looked at his passenger. "You know, it's shit like this that makes me wonder whose side you're really on…"


	12. Chapter 12

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 12**

Bethany lounged on the bed next to the shaggy-haired hunter, her gaze fixed on the broken door, the boxed clutched tightly in her hands. Feeling the mattress shift, she turned to watch Sam moving uncomfortably, seeking a position to ease the pain in his joints. She tugged her lower lip thoughtfully, her gaze trailing his lean body before setting the wooden chest on the bed. Standing, she smiled at the hunter, feeling a brief stab of sympathy for him. His minimally clad body was covered in tiny goose bumps as the cool air filtered through the broken door.

"Look, I know you gotta be sore…" she said contritely. "And I'm sorry it has to be this way." Moving to the bed across from him, she pulled the comforter off and laid it over the chilled hunter. "If Saint Screw-up over there hadn't busted the door, things would've been different…" Her gaze turned wistful as it fell on the stockpile of weaponry. Maybe she should just go ahead and follow through, she could handle any human interruptions.

"So what now?" the brash tone of the angel cut in. "You get yourself another demon whore, Winchester?"

Bethany turned to the ethereal being, her brown-black eyes reduced to slits. "I see the qeres has worn off. I was really hoping Castiel and Dean would be here before that happened." She moved forward, stopping in front of Uriel. "It appears you're stronger than I thought…"

The dark-skinned angel glared wrathfully. "You needn't worry about them; you'll be long gone before they arrive." With a grunt, the entity lunged forward, sending the knives that pinned him clattering to the floor.

Bethany backpedaled to the bed, reaching out blindly for the box and the knife that was inside, silently berating herself as the angel stalked towards her with righteous anger burning in his dark eyes. She should have kept the dagger on her, consequences be damned. Now she had to get to it before the divine being laid his hand on her. She wasn't strong enough to send him packing back to heaven - not without using the remaining qeres, and she planned to use that on the blue-eyed guardian.

Her fingers grazed over the wooden box, and she quickly latched onto it. Watching the advancing angel, she hurriedly opened the intricately carved chest and brandished the copper blade, her lips curling into a thin smile.

Uriel glanced at the knife, uncertainty flickering momentarily over his dark features before he shot an indignant look at the demon. "Am I supposed to be scared of that?" he muttered dryly.

Holding the knife in a practiced hand, Beth swung at the angel. Uriel raised his arm, blocking the attack. Clamping hold of the girl's wrist in a painfully tight grip, he tried to force her to drop the weapon. Tightening her hold on the hilt, the young demon looked up at the man looming over her, his head bent to look in her face. It was all the advantage she needed. Drawing a deep breath, she prepared her body for the pain she was about to take on, and brought her head forward, slamming into the skull of the glorified errand boy. The ensuing crack resonating through the room. Uriel stumbled back, loosening his grasp on the demon. He put a hand to his head, glaring at her.

Again, she took up the offence, aiming the knife for the soft part between the neck and shoulder of the angel. Seeing her intentions, Uriel dropped low, and with an unearthly growl tackled the demon, driving them both into the rickety table. The force of their impact sent it tipping over to crash onto the floor. The copper blade slid from her hand and skittered across the tiled surface, coming to rest beneath the bar fridge.

Breathless, Sam watched the battle between good and evil with wide eyes, the sharp crack when their heads impacted sending a wave of nausea over the young hunter. Shaking off his awe, the young Winchester quickly turned to assess the knots that held him. He wriggled his wrist within the bindings, trying to loosen the cloth restraint.

Hearing the crash of the table collapsing under the entities' combined weight, the hunter paused, raising his head just in time to see the knife disappear under the fridge. Sam clenched his jaw in determination, turning his gaze back to the knot and resuming his desperate struggle to escape. Remembering the hungry look in the woman's eyes when she had looked at the knives, he tugged harder, stopping when he felt the pressure around his wrist increase. It wasn't working - if anything the knot was becoming tighter.

Sam growled low in his throat, frustration and defeat overcoming his senses. Dropping his head to the pillow, the young hunter fought against the tears of rage that threatened to leak from his hazel orbs. The room suddenly fell silent and Sam raised his head again, looking for the angel.

Uriel towered over the girl. Pinning her against the wall he pressed the palm of his hand to her forehead. The demon gasped, trying to pull from his grip, and the angel encircled her throat with a massive hand. Bethany raised her gaze to the entity's face. Uriel's lips slide into a grotesque smile as he savoured the triumph of the dark being's imminent demise.

Sam saw a metallic glint reflecting from something in the girl's hand, and concentrated it, his eyes widening as he recognized the item. Bethany had picked up the bowie knife at some point while she and Uriel were on the floor, and was shifting it in her hand, trying to get the blade positioned to strike.

"She's got a knife," Sam called, warning the angel just as the girl thrust the blade forward.

Twisting sideways, Uriel jumped back, hissing when the qeres soaked knife ripped through his clothes to graze his side. Smoke rose from the wound, the poison perfume burning the skin of the preternatural being and dropping him to his knees. Holding a hand against his injured side, Uriel swayed as the poison entered the bloodstream of the vessel, attacking the unnatural presence within.

Bethany stepped up to the kneeling man and laid her hand on his face. Looking into his dark, pain-filled eyes, she smiled and began to chant in a soft voice. The angel stared at her in shocked surprise while she recited the ancient rite to trap him in the host body. There would be no escape if she completed the verse; he wouldn't be able to leave the vessel, and the poison would finish him.

-000-

Frustrated, Dean slammed his fist on the steering wheel, cursing violently under his breath. They were no more than five miles from the motel and they were stuck in the slow moving aftermath of a traffic accident. Rubbing a hand across his mouth, the young hunter glared at the barely creeping cars in front of him, and ground out another string of profanities.

Castiel watched the man calmly; fully confident in Uriel's abilities and seeing no cause for the agitation emanating from the hunter he turned his gaze to the road. Feeling a sudden shift in the air, the angel stiffened and grasped Dean's shoulder, fear flickering briefly in his blue eyes. "We have to go… now," he muttered quietly.

"Unless the Impala suddenly sprouts angel wings - we're stuck." Shrugging off his passenger's hand, Dean turned his head to glare out the windshield.

Again, Castiel felt the electrified sizzle, sensing the pain of his counterpart. The minor demon was not so minor after all and Uriel was in trouble. "We can't wait," Castiel spoke calmly, laying his hand on the hunter once again.

The '67 Chevy coughed and sputtered before the engine died completely. As traffic began to move again, horns blared at the black classic sitting stationary and empty.

-000-

Watching the demon stand over Uriel reciting the ancient script, Sam focused all his strength into getting free of the restraints. Sweat beaded on the young man's brow with each tug. Looking away, the hunter gauged the solidity of the footboard and gritted his teeth, bracing his feet against the wood before pushing with both legs. He paused to catch his breath then continued his assault, hammering the frame in a steady beat. Feeling a small shift in the footboard, Sam chanced a quick look at the supernatural beings.

Defiantly raising his eyes to the girl, Uriel summoned the energy to begin his own droning mantra, his baritone voice raised in little more than a whisper. The angel's voice faltered and he stumbled over the sacred words, his dark face sheathed in sweat and his lips barely moving. Swaying weakly, Uriel fell silent and slumped forward, unable to maintain his stance any longer. He fell forward, his lethargic head coming to rest against the demon's leg as her chants grew louder.

"No!" Sam roared, as he watched the angel flop over like a rag doll. "Uriel! Get up!" A shot of panic-fuelled adrenaline slammed into the young hunter. He strained against his bindings, uttering a savage growl. Concentrating on the knots, he closed his eyes, untying them in his mind. He felt the cotton fabric holding his left hand loosen and fall away. Breathing deeply; pushing all other thoughts aside, he freed himself from the remaining ties.

As soon as the last restraint slid free, Sam sat up, his outstretched hand facing the demon. Panting heavily, the young hunter focussed on pushing the girl away from the incapacitated angel. He could feel the psychic power building within him, coalescing into a ball of molten energy, taking on a life of its own -feeding off his essence. Directing his aim, Sam felt the surge erupt from his body, slamming into the demon and knocking her back, causing Uriel's inert form to thump to the floor.

Bethany spun around to face her attacker, her dark eyes glittering angrily.

Keeping his hand out, Sam pushed back the blanket and got to his feet, his gaze never wavering from the possessed woman's face. With slow determination, he crossed the room, stopping at the angel's side. Kneeling, the young hunter brushed his fingers over Uriel, unsure what he should be checking for. How did one tell if an angel was dying?

"It seems I'm underestimating everyone today," Bethany intoned, watching Sam's hand in apprehension.

"What did you do to him?" the hunter demanded harshly. "Is he dying?"

Wrinkling her nose in disdain, the girl looked down at the angel with a shake of her head. "Not yet. But if you give me a few more minutes he will be." She took step towards the angel, her hand reaching out to him.

"Get back!" Sam commanded, rising to his feet and stopping Bethany in her tracks. "What was that stuff? What did you call it - qeres?"

"Oh, come off it, Sammy," she muttered in irritation. "After everything that over-blown messenger has said to you - about you, and you want to save him? Just let him die." Again, she moved forward.

Without further warning, Sam released the mental punch he was holding back, throwing the demon against the plaster wall and pinning her in place with a mere thought. "What did you do?" His voice echoed, vibrating in Bethany's mind.

There was a sudden swirl of displaced air and the faint whirr of wings, followed by a familiar muttered curse.

"Sam? What's going on?" Dean stood beside the counter, where he landed when Castiel had popped them in, assessing the scene in a sweeping glance. The table was in pieces on the floor, Uriel was down and unmoving. Sam was standing in the centre of the room dressed solely in his boxers, using his dark mojo to slam the officer around the room. "I asked a question, Sam."

Turning, Sam saw the look in his brother's eyes, a mixture of fear, apprehension and concern. With an inward groan and a stab of guilt, the young psychic searched his sibling's face for understanding before shifting his gaze to Castiel. "She used something on him. I don't know what it is. It burnt him like holy water does demons."

The divine being hurried to his fallen partner's side, assessing the damage done to the vessel. "Did she cut him?" he demanded, raising his blue eyes to the younger hunter.

"Yeah," Sam answered, maintaining his telekinetic hold on the demon as he spoke. "She used Dean's bowie knife, she soaked it in that stuff."

The look of hopelessness in the angel's face did little to ease the worries of either Winchester. Moving to stand at his brother's side, Dean kept watch on the demon as Sam told Castiel what had happened.

"It's qeres," Bethany laughed. "No cure, Cassi baby. Your little buddy is on his way to the… Oh, that's right. He won't be going to the pearly gates, will he?"

"Why don't you shut up, bitch?" Dean snapped. Turning to the other two men, he asked, "What the hell is qeres?"

"Could we maybe get her taken care of first?" Sam asked, breathless from the exertion, his adrenaline rush starting to fade.

"What, Superman can't keep it up?" Bethany smirked, wiggling her fingers at the infuriated man.

"I thought I told you to shut the hell up," Dean growled, his green eyes narrowing as he stared at the demon.

Finding a marker, Dean drew a Devil's Trap on the grimy tiled floor of the kitchenette. Upon its completion, he gripped the girl roughly and pushed her inside, fixing the scuffmarks before dropping the marker and turning away. He watched Sam drop his arm, noting the pallor in the younger man's face. Unable to think of something to say, the elder brother turned away, pretending not to notice the pained expression in Sam's face.

Rubbing a hand through his shaggy hair, the younger hunter joined the others at Uriel's side. "What's qeres?" Sam asked Castiel, squatting to aid the angel in rolling his companion onto his back.

"It's a perfume; it was created by the Egyptians. It was meant to be used in their mummification ceremonies. Somehow it was discovered that this perfume has special properties." Castiel looked at the young hunters, sadness in his eyes. "The qeres can be used on any supernatural being, evil or good. It is one of the few things that can kill an angel if it enters the bloodstream."

"Well isn't that just peachy," Dean grumbled. "Is there a cure?"

Bethany listened to the Winchesters as they tried to think of a way to save the arrogant angel. Shaking her head, she lowered herself to her knees and pulled her hair back from her face. She studied the flimsy stick on tiles that covered the small floor. Many of the squares were chipped or loose. Calling on her demonic skills, she blew on the tiles, causing them to lift from the floor and effectively destroying the symbol. Smiling, she straightened, her feet hiding the missing tiles from the others.

"What can you do for him, then? You're not gonna just watch him die?" Standing, Sam pushed back his bangs, huffing in exasperation.

Dean stared at his brother, all thoughts of betrayal and anger gone from his mind as he focussed on the symbol that had been engraved on his sibling's forehead. In two strides, Dean was in front of the younger man, pushing back the chestnut locks and examining the cut. "Sam?" he said softly dropping his hand to his side. "What the hell?"

Spinning on his heel, Dean went to his duffel in search of the first aid kit. He dropped onto Sam's bed to rummage through his canvas carryall, trying not to see the emblem that was permanently scratched into the younger man's head. A mark he had hoped to never see again.

Finally locating the first aid kit, Dean got to his feet, knocking the bag to the floor. He looked down, and froze - almost the entire contents of their weapons duffle was strewn across the carpet near his feet. "What the hell?" he repeated to himself. Looking up, he felt the bottom drop from his world. A tidy array of weaponry sat lined on the nightstand next to his bed. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes, wishing the image away. It couldn't be happening - not now, not when he was needed. Opening his eyes, he averted his gaze from the night table to the bed, not wanting to see what couldn't be there. He released a strangled gasp, his knees liquefying under his weight, his blurry vision locked on the wrists straps and bloody pillow.

Hearing the desperate sound of his sibling in anguish, Sam turned around and was moving to his brother's side instantly. Dean's breathing was fast and shallow and he swayed on his feet. Standing next to the older man, Sam cautiously laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly in his big brother's ear, talking him down from his Hell.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, the elder Winchester turned haunted eyes to face his brother. "What did she do to you?" he rasped, his voice almost inaudible. He clasped the younger man's shoulders, inspecting him for any sign of injury, no matter how small. His eyes widened in concern when he saw the two thin, bloody knife wounds winding their way down Sam's torso.

"Dean, it's okay," Sam said comfortingly. "I'm okay. She didn't get to do anything, Uriel interrupted. I'm okay, really."

Dean looked at the shallow cuts marring his baby brother's chest, then back to the symbol that was hidden beneath Sam's bangs. Taking a deep breath, Dean turned to the demon; he would tear her apart for just thinking about touching his brother, he vowed silently.

Bethany stood within the trap, watching Castiel administer to his counterpart. She scowled as she heard bits and pieces of the original tongue being spoken - the language of angels. Without looking, she could feel Dean's sudden turmoil, his pain and fear as tangible as the floor she stood on. Smiling, she turned to face the approaching man. Finally, her hard work was coming to fruition.


	13. Chapter 13

Echoes of Hell

**Chapter 13**

Dean stood at the edge of the Devil's Trap, a flask of holy water clutched in his fist, droplets of the liquid dripping from the rim. Hissing in pain, Bethany mopped at the sanctified water with the hem of her shirt before raising her gaze to meet the older hunter's eyes.

"Well now," she grated, pulling her lips into a frown. "You aren't playing nice at all."

Sam and Castiel stood on either side of the elder Winchester, having situated the dark-skinned angel on one of the beds, resting and hanging onto his life by a thread.

"I haven't started playing yet, bitch." Dean said with a sneer. Raising his hand, he moved to douse the vile being with another splash of holy water.

"Wait," Bethany exclaimed, holding her arms in front of her face defensively. When he halted his attack, she dropped her hands, staring at the green-eyed man. He was soft. She shook her head in disgust, ashamed of the lowly coward he had become. The man she knew, the man who was revered as much as feared, would have continued the assault, then listened to whatever the victim had to say. He never would've stopped an action that would have guaranteed to inflict pain. Studying the men flanking him, she felt a justifiable rage coming to the surface of her thoughts - they had ruined him. Made him weak. Turned him into less than what he was. Beth now knew for certain that she was doing the right thing, saving him from an unbearable existence.

"Well?" Dean demanded, keeping his hand poised to send the remaining liquid onto the woman. "Who sent you? Was it Lillith?"

Crossing her arms, the demon stared at him in contemplation and with a sigh; she dropped her hands to her sides. "I guess there's no harm in telling you a story." With a shrug, Bethany settled on the floor Indian style, then looked up at the men. "Might as well get comfy."

When the trio didn't move, she clucked her tongue in annoyance before speaking. "Lillith has nothing to do with this." She hesitated a moment, then continued. "Well, I went to her for some help, but other than that, she has nothing to do with this."

Squatting so he was eye level with the dark entity, Sam spoke. "Why are you here?"

Bethany smiled, her brown-black orbs shinning excitedly. "Just a little payback. I've really earned the privilege." Turning her gaze to Dean, she frowned. "How I get the payback is up to you, Dean. I only came for you and the interfering angel. Sam could still walk away unharmed. So, what do you say?"

Dean snorted. "Looks to me like you aren't gonna be doin' anything." he responded, nodding at the devil's trap. "Or did you forget?"

"This ol thing? It won't hold me," the demon chuckled softly. Getting to her feet, she stepped over the roughly drawn trap to prove her point, her lips curling into a sardonic smile.

Surprised, Dean stumbled back a step before raising the flask and splashing the remaining holy water on the dark entity. Smoke rose from the girl's body as she clenched her jaw against the pain. Shaking her head, she walked towards the elder Winchester, her eyes murderous in her anger.

"Damn you," she spat, wiping at the steaming water. "This is getting old…"

"Stop - go no further," Castiel said firmly, lifting his hand towards her.

"What are you going to do about it?" Bethany yelled. Murmuring softly, she raised her own hand, palm facing the angel.

Castiel felt his hand being forced down to his side, and stared at the girl in confusion as his vessel weakened, becoming paralyzed. The angel recognized the words she spoke - a language that had died out with the Nephilim. The demon was young , much too young to know the ancient tongue, and there were very few beings with the knowledge of the old language, fewer still that would take the time to teach such a complicated dialect to one so young.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean demanded, his gaze darting between the preternatural beings. "Who are you?"

Bethany finished the verse and looked smugly at the angel. "That'll hold you for a minute or two." Turning, she moved to Dean, walking a slow circle around the angry hunter before stopping to face him, her eyes locking with his. "I came for you."

Sam stood, his gaze flicking to his sibling before settling back on the woman. "What do you mean, you came for him?"

"It's time to come home, Dean," she said softly. "You know you're on borrowed time here, don't you?"

"What are you talking about, you crazy bitch." the elder Winchester spoke through clenched teeth, his hand gripping the empty flask tighter. "I used my get out of hell free card - I'm not goin' back."

Dean took an involuntary step backwards as melodious laughter burst from the woman. She searched Castiel's face before shifting her gaze to the elder hunter and back to the angel again. "You didn't tell him," she said incredulously. "I can't believe you didn't tell him." The demon clapped her hands gleefully as another bout of giddy laughter overcame her. "This is so rich," she breathed, wiping a tear from her eye.

Dean looked at his brother, raising a brow before turning back to the laughing woman. "What the hell is so funny?" Casting a questioning glance at Castiel, he asked, "What is she talking about?"

"Yeah, Cassi," Bethany cooed. "Just what am I talking about? Don't you think you should be the one to tell the boys? It's kinda funny, don't you think? The way you always talk about us demons." She shook her head. "But we never make pretences - you know what to expect with us. With angels? Well, you expect them to be all honest and forthcoming, right? Well they're not, are you, Cassi baby? You keep a lot of dark secrets in that head of yours, doncha?"

Sam looked at the angel, waiting for him to counter the woman's claims, or at least tell them what she was hinting at. Castiel stared at the demon, not looking at either of the men that he had been guiding and working with.

"Be quiet." Castiel admonished struggling to regain the use of his chosen vessel.

"And what are you going to do about it?" the demon asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes at the angel before returning her attention to her prize. "Did you know that Castiel here knew I was around?"

"It came up," Dean replied gruffly.

Sam looked at him in surprise. This was the first he had heard of this, and he didn't like being left out of an important piece of information.

"Oh?" Bethany said, surprised the angel had told the Winchesters about their impromptu meeting. "So he told you that I gave him the opportunity to take me out, and he didn't take it?"

The elder Winchester's eyes flashed darkly and he turned to look at the holy entity. "No, he forgot to mention that part." Dean stared at Castiel, trying to read the man's impassive features, becoming uncertain of the being that had proclaimed himself guardian and rescuer.

"Oh well. Do you know why he didn't smite me when he had the chance?" Bethany was gloating, thrilled that the seeds of doubt had begun to take root in the older hunter's mind.

"I dunno, you guys used to date and now he's hoping for a little pity sex?" Dean answered cockily, turning to face the woman.

"Cute, Dean. Very cute. It's because he's an angel. Do you know what it means to be an angel?" She asked with a smile, watching Castiel. "It means he can't think for himself. So when he saw me outside your motel, he couldn't destroy me because Daddy didn't give the go ahead. So tell me Cas -honey, did Daddy give you permission to come out and play?"

Castiel remained silent, focussing all his energies into reclaiming the use of the body, and planning his attack. He could see the scepticism in the elder Winchester's eyes, and knew the demon was undoing all the work he had done to gain the man's trust. He also knew he would have to make sure the girl didn't reveal what wasn't supposed to be revealed, or all could be lost.

She turned back to the brothers, noting the youngest's protective stance next to and slightly in front of his sibling, and she smiled endearingly. "Sammy, so much you want to know, so much you need to understand." She tilted her head to the side as she sized up the taller hunter. He would be a formidable opponent, there was no doubt in her mind about that. She just had to find a way around his gifts.

"For instance, did you know your brother made quite a name for himself downstairs? He was Alastair's prized pupil. He was climbing the ranks in leaps and bounds. In another decade or two, he coulda left the torture chambers for a better position. If he wanted to leave, that is." She met the younger hunter's gaze and winked. "He loved his job though - really got into the meat of it. We all knew he'd spend his eternity ripping souls apart. He'd never give it up."

Dean lowered his head, unable to look at Sam as the demon bitch spoke the painfully true words. He didn't want to see his own shame and disgust mirrored in the eyes of his baby brother. It would hurt too much.

"You know, Dean's favourite thing was peeling the flesh from the bones. He even found ways to keep the souls conscious through the entire ordeal." Bethany began to pace the floor, keeping watch on the hunters. "If you live through this, I want you to do something; I want you to ask the next demon you meet to tell you about The Flesher. You'll be so proud to hear about your brother's conquest and creations I'm sure."

Dean raised his head, staring at the woman. "Shut up, just shut up," he rasped.

"Why? You don't want your precious baby brother to know your name? What the damned souls call you? You should be proud. So many of us never get the honour of a special name."

Shifting his gaze, Sam could see the pain and guilt on the elder man's features and he realized that the demon was speaking the truth, his brother had enjoyed what he had done while in hell. Sam wiped a hand across his mouth, studying Dean's ashen face, seeing the self-hate and shame in his dull green eyes. Feeling a surge of protective anger, the younger hunter jumped into action. He grabbed his own flask, and splashed a liberal amount of the holy liquid on the demon. "Shut up," he hissed.

Growling angrily, Bethany waved her arm, sending Sam sprawling to the floor. She wiped the moisture from her face and stepped towards the fallen hunter. "That is starting to piss me off, big time." Holding her hand out, she forced the younger man to his feet, and backed him into the wall. "Stay!" she barked angrily.

"Sam!" Dean called out, moving to his brother.

"Stop!" the demon demanded, halting him in mid-step with the flex of a finger. "We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It really makes no difference to me."

"You want me, that's what you said, right?" the elder hunter asked, his gaze locked on his sibling. "Leave them out of it."

"We have much to discuss," Bethany purred, advancing on the oldest Winchester. "Castiel? He dies regardless of what you do or say. But if you come willingly, I'll let your brother live."

"Dean, no," Sam cried out. He wasn't going to let his brother sacrifice himself again - not for him.

"And you," the demon drawled, glaring at the younger hunter. "If you shut up and be a big boy, I'll make this painless for your brother. If you insist on fighting, it'll be the most painful thing he's ever experienced. And he's experienced a lot. So that's how it is. If you want to make things easier on each other…"

Castiel stepped calmly in front of the demon, laying his hand firmly on her forehead. Clamping his other hand over her mouth to prevent her from uttering the chants of the black arts, he exerted his will on the woman, trying to destroy the dark entity within. Bethany struggled in the angel's hold, moving her head from side to side, trying to shake the hands restraining her. Feeling a sudden shift in the psyche of the body's cohabitant, she stilled. It had been a while since Kimberly had made her presence known. The intruder hadn't heard a peep since Uriel had laid his hand on her the first time, but now she could sense the other soul, and Kimberly was dying.

_When the black man had put his hand on her head, Kimberly had felt the electric current pass through her, frying her synapses - leaving her disoriented and in agony. For the first time since she had been taken hostage in her own body, the young officer of Bald Knob had sided with the dark mass within, adding her will to the being's psychic energy - pushing back against the pain, holding onto her desire to live. _

_When, with their combined energies and the strange liquid, the entity had prevailed, Kimberly had retreated further into her consciousness, looking for relief in the darkness. The pain had been immense - beyond anything she had ever felt before, and she had needed to get away from the pain sensors in her own mind. There she had stayed, floating in the nothingness, oblivious to the physical world around her. Now she was being pulled back to the reality she wanted so much to avoid. _

_White hot agony lanced through her entire being, compressing her- shattering her strength and resolve. This attack was much stronger than the last had been, and Kimberly was still shaken and weak from the earlier assault. Sorrow filled her heart, with the knowledge that she couldn't fight back this time; she had nothing more to give. Wanting only to rest, to escape the pain and the craziness of a world where angels destroyed the innocent, Kimberly released her tenuous hold on life, and with an unseen shudder, left her body to the demon residing within. _

The emersion and passing of Kimberly had taken mere seconds but for Beth it was an eternity. She had felt the deep sadness of the woman, had sensed when the original spirit of the body lost her desire to continue. There had been no anger; no longing to avenge the life taken from her, only a mind numbing sorrow and the resolute acceptance that what she had believed of God and angels was a lie.

The demon stared at the angel, tears welling in her black eyes, as the passing left a hole within her being. She felt empty - alone. When she had first read the inscription on the box while holding the dagger, she had felt her soul merge with that of the other, and she had felt trapped, invaded. However, over the short time they had been joined, she had grown accustomed to having the thoughts of the original spirit commingled with her own, like having her own Jiminy Cricket whispering in her ear. It should've annoyed her no end, but instead it gave her some comfort - she wasn't alone. But now the angel had taken that away from her, just like he had taken Dean away.

Squaring her shoulders, Bethany let the fury within her build to a raging crescendo and threw a bolt of energy at Castiel, her anger intensifying the strength. The angel staggered slightly, then continued his assault on the dark soul.

When Castiel had interceded the demon's path, Sam was released from the invisible force holding him to the wall. Staggering slightly, he regained his balance and immediately looked to his sibling. Dean was already moving to the younger man, intent on checking him for any new injuries. They silently assessed each other, then turned to watch the proverbial battle taking place in their shabby motel room.

Dean looked at the devil's trap curiously, wondering how the demon had gotten free. The missing tiles glared at him tauntingly, and he swore. He should have seen they were missing; it wasn't like it was a chip or smear in the ink - whole tiles had vanished. Silently berating his carelessness, the elder hunter turned his attention to the supernatural entities and their conflict.

Standing next to his sibling, Sam stared enthralled as a bright light illuminated the angel and his adversary. The younger Winchester no longer felt the chills of the cool air on his skin, the discomfort of being in only his boxers completely forgotten. Watching the woman's face, he felt a moment of apprehension. The brown-black orbs became the deep brown eyes of Kimberly Richards for a fraction of a second before settling into the inky black of the damned soul. Sam felt a deep sadness; somehow he knew that the brief colour change signalled the final second of the young woman's life, all that was left within the body now was the vile being that had caused her death.

Guilt followed close on the heels of the young man's sadness. The demon wanted him and Dean; she had no animosity toward Kimberly and they had led the bitch to the innocent woman. If they hadn't gone to Bald Knob, the young officer wouldn't have become a part of the twisted plot for revenge, and now the woman was gone. He should've been able to save her. What good were these so-called powers if he couldn't use them to save the people that were, at one time, blissfully unaware of the evils around them.

Lost in his own thoughts, the younger hunter almost missed the dark entity's movement as she thrust her hand into her pocket. Sudden realization dawned on him - _the qeres_. They hadn't disarmed her. Only thinking about the fading angel, they had used the devil's trap to hold her, and had tended to the injured. When they confronted the demon, he had forgotten the qeres - that she had put it in her pocket after using it on Uriel.

"Castiel, watch out!" Sam cried, moving to intercept the woman's hand. Hearing the angel gasp in pain, the young hunter knew he was too late.

Castiel released his hold on the demon, raising his hands to his burning face. He had known she had qeres, Sam had told him, yet he had made the amateur mistake of not getting the poison from the creature. He had lost focus. The angel tried to still his hands, fighting the urge to wipe at the offending liquid. Rubbing the qeres on his skin would make matters much worse; he had to cleanse it from his person.

He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his vision, and wash away the poison with the vessel's natural tears. "Holy water," he rasped, turning his head in what he hoped was the Winchesters' direction. "Hurry!"

"Nuh-uh, I don't think so Halo-boy," Bethany ground out, her obsidian orbs watching the suffering angel. Raising her hand, she spoke several Latin phrases, forcing the advancing hunters to the wall. "I'm tired of playing. Quite frankly, you pissed me off."

Wiggling her finger in a beckoning motion, she called the dagger to her. The copper knife slide from beneath the bar fridge into the demon's waiting hand. "You've ruined everything. You killed the girl. You! An angel of the Lord killed an innocent girl and gave a demon free reign over the meat suit. Very well played." she said sarcastically, walking a circle around the wounded being.

When she had come full circle and was once again facing the angel, she placed her hand on his forehead, raising the dagger as she recited the inscription from the box. The ancient verse would trap the ethereal being in the meat suit he had chosen, then she would strike; the copper blade would finish the messenger of God for good.

Castiel pushed the pain from his mind, focussing on the damned soul in front of him. "You told me that I owed you, that it was because of you Dean was worth saving when I finally got to him in Hell. What did you mean?" the angel's voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

"Too late, Cassi baby. " Bethany sneered. "I don't feel like talking to you anymore, the time has passed."

Dean stared at the woman, watching the subtle movements of her body. She claimed to know of him from Hell, had come to take him back. As hard as he tried, he couldn't think of whom she could be. All the demons he had known were evil and out for vengeance - nothing about this woman struck a chord of familiarity in him. "What about me?" the elder hunter called to the dark soul. "Don't I have a right to know what the hell is going on?"

Bethany looked at the young hunter, shaking her head. "It's not gonna work, Dean. You're not going to distract me so your saviour here can get away."

"No, that's not what I'm doing. I want to know." Dean met her gaze. "You said something earlier, something about a secret Cas was keeping."

The demon's black eyes widened. "I almost forgot about that." She released her grip on the angel, watching the proud being's shoulders slump in his weakness. Maintaining her invisible hold on the hunters, she picked up the marker from the floor where Dean had dropped it and drew several symbols around the angel.

After the last symbol was drawn, she tossed the marker on the floor and crossed the room to face the elder Winchester. "I guess I should give you the option to kill him, it's only fair. Those symbols? They'll hold him," she chuckled. "We'll call it an Angel's Trap, okay?"

"Why would I want to kill Castiel? He pulled me from the pit," Dean questioned, a feeling of unease sliding over him. Maybe he didn't want to know the Holy being's secret, not if it was bad enough that he might want to kill an angel.

"He pulled you from the Pit, that's true." Bethany smiled. "But let me ask you a question. Castiel pulled you from Hell 'cause God commanded it, correct?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, and?"

"Think about God for a moment Dean. Think of everything ever said or written about Him." the demon hesitated, fighting an internal battle. A part of her didn't want to tell him, didn't want to see the defeat and desperation that would come. But he had to know; besides he hadn't considered her feelings at all in the five months he'd been freed. Payback is a bitch.

"Get to the point," the elder Winchester ground out.

"In all the writings of God, did you find Him a forgiving being? Think before you answer. The Watchers? Their only crime was being attracted to and falling in love with mankind. They were banned from heaven, forever. Forever, Dean. Not once had they taken His name in vain, they never stopped loving Him, but they had disobeyed." She placed a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the rhythmic beating of his heart. "Dean, you were a grown man, and you knew what you did was wrong. You gave your soul away to a demon; do you really think God would forgive that?"

Drawing a shaky breath, Dean glared at the woman. "What are you saying?" he asked thickly.

"Your soul is still tainted, Dean. It still bears the brand of Hell. Castiel and God gave you extra time, that's all. When you die, you'll go right back to Hell."


	14. Chapter 14

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 14**

_When you die, you'll go right back to hell._

The demon's words echoed through his mind. Dean stopped struggling against his invisible restraints, his arms becoming lax as the damning statement played through his head in an unending loop. …_Right back to hell. _Swallowing convulsively, he blinked back the burning moisture in his eyes. Demons lie. She couldn't be telling him the truth. Castiel would've told him. Hell, Uriel would have jumped at the chance to rub it in his face. The bitch was lying, that's all there was to it.

Schooling his features into a carefully controlled mask, the elder hunter glared at the woman. "You're full of it," he spat. "Cas woulda told me."

Bethany lifted her hand from the man's chest and laid it on his lightly whiskered cheek, sorrow etched on her face. "No, Dean, he wouldn't. God wouldn't allow it. Castiel can't do anything for himself. He can think, he can disagree with his orders, but he can never -NEVER take matters into his own hands." Lowering her hand, she shook her head sadly. "Do you want to ask him? Confront him with the truth? He won't lie, but he will dance around the truth. Do you know when the angel is dancing, Dean?" Holding the dagger tightly, she flexed the fingers of her empty hand, releasing the Winchester brothers from her psychic grasp.

As soon as he was released from the demon's hold, Sam moved to Dean's side. He quietly inspected the older man's stoic features, reading the hidden panic in his eyes. Expelling a pent up breath, the younger hunter turned to the demon, anger blazing in his hazel orbs.

"Now, now, Sammy," she whispered. "Mind your temper or I'll tie you back to the bed and finish …"

"I don't freakin' think so, bitch," Dean growled, stepping in front of his little brother. "You just back the hell off."

Tilting her head to the side, the dark being tugged at her lower lip for a moment before listlessly dropping her hand as she let out a sigh of exasperation. "It's always about little Sammy, isn't it? Everything is for Sam. No one else matters. Hell, you'd let the world end before you'd walk away from him." Bethany took Dean's hand to lead him to the angel. "May as well get this over with."

Pulling from the demon's grasp, Dean sneered. "Back off!" He cast a sidelong glance at his brother and at Dean's silent nod they advanced on Castiel. Both were angered by what the girl had said, and were hoping the words she spoke were lies.

Castiel watched the young hunters as they came to a halt in front of him, neither crossing the barriers created by the demon. The qeres had weakened him, and the symbols kept him from walking free. Seeing the deep lines of anger on the younger man's face, the angel drew a sharp intake of breath. Dean was still holding on to the hope that his return to hell was a lie, whereas his brother stared suspiciously at the divine being, silently demanding answers Castiel could not provide.

Shifting his gaze back and forth between the men, Castiel straightened his shoulders, feigning more strength and energy than he actually had in his current state. His attention was drawn to the movement in his peripheral vision, as the demon sauntered up to stand behind the hunters. Meeting the angel's gaze, she smiled coldly, holding the copper dagger up for him to see. Castiel's eyes widened in recognition, the first tendrils of fear snaked through his mind. She couldn't have that knife; it was secured where no evil being could get their hands on it. It wasn't possible.

The angel pulled his gaze from the blade as Dean cleared his throat before speaking.

"Well? Is there any truth to what she said?"

"Dean, I can't tell you that," Castiel said with a sigh.

Crossing his arms over his chest, the older Winchester stared at the holy being suspiciously. Sam inched closer to his brother, his face a mask of stone.

"You can't tell me?" Dean yelled in disbelief. "What do you mean you can't tell me? This is my life - my soul we're talking about here. Am I going back to hell or not?"

"Dean, I'm privy to information on a need to know basis only…" the angel began calmly.

"Need to know? Don't you think this is something we NEED to know?" Sam snapped, cutting Castiel's excuse short.

Castiel raised his eyes to the ceiling, praying for the answer he needed and receiving nothing. Returning his gaze to the men he had worked closely with over the past several months, he felt his shoulders sag under the weight of his burden. He was on his own here, and he had to handle the situation delicately.

"Cas?" Dean pressed, scrubbing a weary hand over his face.

"It was never said that you would go back to hell," Castiel said softly, his blue orbs locked on the elder man's face, sadness in their depths. "But it was never said that you wouldn't." The angel lowered his head, his own soul burning with shame and sorrow. He wasn't lying to the hunters; he really didn't know, but he had never mentioned the possibility to the Winchesters. How could he? How could you tell a man that you had rescued him to do God's work, to battle in a dangerous war, but he may have to return to the Pit when all was said and done? He couldn't - he had just hoped that Dean's soul being safe was an unspoken fact. He had not been brave enough to ask that question - for he had feared the answer.

The elder Winchester stared at the angel and for the briefest second, the hurt and betrayal he felt stood starkly on his pale face before being replaced with his stoic mask of indifference. "No," Dean muttered, his green eyes becoming hard. "No. You did not pull me from the Pit just to toss me back when you were done with me. No, not after I've done everything you ever asked."

Bethany stepped up to the distraught man, reading past the cold eyes and impassive features of the brave warrior and seeing the terrified boy within. Her fingers ached to touch him, to offer a small amount of comfort, but she knew it wouldn't be well received; instead, she fidgeted with the blade, regarding the hunter warily.

"Dean, look at me," the demon murmured. When he turned to face her, she sighed. "He's dancing around it - you know that, don't you. He won't tell you the truth."

Dean glared at the girl, all the anger and hate he felt directed at her. "And what is the truth?"

Stepping back, Bethany stared at the man, her lips curling into a knowing smile. There was the man she knew; hate and anger the focal point of all his actions. "Ahh, I was beginning to think you were lost, Flesher," she cooed, stressing the name she chose to use.

"Don't call me that," the elder hunter hissed. Closing his eyes, Dean breathed deeply, calming the sudden raging emotions. Regaining control, he looked at the demon. "You want me to believe you're telling the truth and the angel is lying?"

"God," Bethany groaned. "You can be so damn stupid sometimes. I'm getting tired of this crap. So let's speed this up." The young demon brushed her hair from her face in frustration. "Here it is, straight up. Castiel won't tell you either way. So if you listen to him, you won't know the truth until you find your ass back in hell. And I pray to God - maybe it should be Lucifer or Satan, whatever - that you'll be on my table. Because baby, you got a lot to make up for."

Rubbing the back of her neck, the woman calmed her rage before speaking again. "You will return to hell Dean. I can still smell your soul. It reeks of sulphur and hellfire."

While the demon's attention was focussed on Dean, Sam sidled closer to the angel. Glancing into Castiel's face, he could see the being's sorrow. Gritting his teeth, the younger hunter lowered slowly bent down, picking up the discarded marker from the floor. Sam knew what he had to do, even as another part of him screamed to leave the deceptive angel where he was. With a quick glance towards the demon, he scribbled over several lines, marring the unity of the symbols. Raising his head, he nodded at the confused angel and straightened up.

As Bethany spoke of Dean's soul, Sam quickly moved to his sibling, stepping in between the demon and his brother. "If that's true, why did they pull him out?" he asked.

"You two are brothers, no doubt about it. Both of you are incredibly dense." Bethany shook her head. "Fine, let me spell it out for you. Cain and Abel - ring a bell?"

"Dean," Castiel called. "Don't listen to her. She's an abomination, spewing blasphemy with every breath."

"Oh, do shut up!" the demon said through clenched teeth. She waved her hand and the angel fell silent.

Turning back to the Winchesters, she continued her tale. "God loved Abel; he could do no wrong in the Lord's eyes. But he didn't treat Cain equally. I'm sorry, but if you do that to your children it'll promote jealousy and sibling rivalry, which is exactly what happened. Cain became so jealous of the obvious favouritism that he killed his brother. Did God step in to protect His pet? No, he let Abel die at his brother's hands, and cast Cain out to wander the lands forever. And to top it off, he marked Cain, so no one would kill him."

"Just what I always wanted," Dean groused sarcastically. "A nice bible lesson from a frickin' demon. Is there a point to this?"

"You are so impatient. Fine, look at it this way. Dean, you are Abel." She then nodded at Sam. "Sam, you're Cain. Get the picture? No? God is pitting the two of you against each other. And if the Bible has taught us anything, it's that being favoured by God is not exactly…favourable, for lack of a better word. If things don't go the way He hopes, then Sam will kill you, Dean, and then your sweet little ass will be back on the racks. Plain enough for ya?"

Sam glared at the demon. "I will not kill my brother," he said slowly. "I'm not going dark side, and I'm not - repeat _not, goin' to kill Dean."_

"That's too bad, Sammy." Bethany said with a smile. "Because if you were to go dark side, as you so nicely put it, then you and Dean could play for the same team. The winning team at that."

"Bitch, you're lucky the demon knife is in the Impala, otherwise I would slice your throat from ear to ear," Dean grated, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides. "What makes you think I'd be on the demons' side?"

Beth looked up at the ceiling and screamed her frustration before looking at the elder Winchester. "Take this dagger, Dean." She held the copper knife out to him. "Take it and drive it into the heart of the angel. He has lied to you, used you to keep tabs on your brother. It's time you get some payback."

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded, eyeing the blade cautiously. "Knives don't work on angels."

The young demon dropped her head to her hands, rubbing her temples furiously. She was tired of dealing with these damned humans. The whole goody-goody routine was enough to make her sick. All she really had to do was bring Dean back to hell; she didn't need the other bullshit. If she didn't break the seal, who cared - at this point she sure didn't. Lillith would have to do it herself. Trying to get a Winchester to slaughter an angel was harder than she thought, and she just didn't have the energy for it anymore.

"This knife was created to kill angels. All I have to do is finish the rite locking him in his chosen vessel and then you stab him. It's really simple. C'mon," she urged gently. "One of you must want a little revenge. After all, he only pulled Dean out to stop the Apocalypse. They're gonna throw him right back in the pit when it's over. And you, Sam. Look at how the angels treat you, they can't see past the demon blood. To them you are a demon. They keep threatening to take you out. Don't you want to get them before they get you?"

When neither Winchester responded, Bethany turned her gaze on Dean and sighed. "Dean, you are going back to the pit. Get your revenge and let's go. I'm tired and cranky. So do it already."

"You think that because Castiel withheld some information, that I'm going to jump sides?" Dean asked incredulously. "It doesn't matter. I didn't expect to survive this war anyway. I'm fighting for the people. Not for the angels or God, and definitely not for Lucifer. I'll do what ever I have to, to keep Lucifer from walking free - for the people. The innocents that have no idea what's hanging over their heads. As for the angels and God, and you freakin' demons, you can all go screw yourselves."

Dean turned to his brother, his features set in hard determination. "Sam, exorcize the bitch."

The younger hunter inhaled deeply before beginning the Latin verse he had committed to memory. His voice wavered slightly as he watched the demon standing firm, unaffected by the rites. Continuing the chant, he looked questioningly at his sibling. There should've been some sign that the exorcism was working, yet the girl stood there calmly, as if he were reciting a nursery rhyme.

Bethany smirked as the young Winchester tried to remove her from the meat suit and send her screaming back to hell. The accidental binding with the body proved to be a stroke of luck - they couldn't hurt her. Cocking her head to the side, she winked. "I don't think it's working."

Turning towards his brother, Sam stopped the exorcism in mid-sentence. He was quoting the most powerful rite in his recollection, and nothing was happening. Meeting his gaze, Dean subtly drew the younger man's attention to the floor and the knife resting at his feet. It was the bowie that the demon had used on Uriel; she had dropped it when Sam had attacked her with his abilities. Raising his head, the younger hunter acknowledged Dean's silent instructions with a discreet nod.

Sam quickly leaned down, grabbing the hilt of the knife before straightening and turning to face the evil being. For a brief moment, the younger hunter believed that they had a chance to defeat the demon. The blade in his hand had been soaked in the qeres, and Castiel had said the poison could destroy any supernatural being. Lifting the knife, Sam moved to attack the woman in front of him.

Bethany watched the silent exchange between the brothers, shaking her head in amusement. For hunters trained by the great John Winchester, they weren't the sharpest tools in the shed. What the boys thought were subtle signals were actually blatant warnings, and she knew what to expect before Sam approached with the knife poised to strike. Waving her hand, she sent the younger man across the room, slamming him into the plaster wall. "This game is getting old. You didn't think I'd see you picking up the damn knife? Do I really look that stupid to you?"

Staring at the younger Winchester, Bethany gloated, praising herself for a job well done and a catastrophe avoided. An arm suddenly crossed over her throat in a chokehold, catching her by surprise. Gasping, the demon attempted to turn around, but the arm flexed, cutting off more of her air supply.

Dean couldn't believe their luck. He hadn't expected that she would fall for the decoy so easily. Leaning in, he pressed his lips next to the girl's ear and said smugly, "I'd say you're stupider than you look, bitch." Tightening his hold on her throat, he reached out with his other hand, pulling the dagger from her fingers. "I'll take that."

Bethany stiffened, feeling the point of the ancient blade touching her neck and she searched her mind for a method of escape. She grasped the arm that was around her throat, trying to loosen the grip and take in air before realizing that there was no need for alarm. Oxygen wasn't a necessity for her, the body was already dead - her spirit was all that was keeping the husk animated. Tamping down the irrational feeling of panic, she dug her nails into the restraining arm. She swung her head back, connecting with her captor and bloodying his lip. Dean relaxed his hold, swaying slightly from the abrupt impact. Sensing the hunter's weakness, Bethany drove her elbow into his mid-section, wrestling the dagger from his lax fingers.

The demon turned to confront her attacker, her obsidian eyes glinted angrily. "You will pay for that," she snapped, pressing the edge of th_e _knife against the hunter's jugular. "Better yet, your brother will." Bethany smiled coldly placing her hand on the elder Winchester's chest. Feeling his strong heartbeat beneath her fingers, she envisioned the healthy organ in her mind, picturing a dark ring squeezing the pulsating heart.

With a strangled gasp, Dean fell to his knees, clawing at her hand in a futile attempt to remove the cause of the sudden pain raging through his system. "Stop," he wheezed.

Pushing the elder Winchester, Bethany withdrew her hand and snarled. "Play time is over." She turned as a shuffling sound caught her attention. The girl's eyes widened in surprise as the angel slowly closed the distance between them.

"Damn it, damn you all," Bethany cursed. Holding the blade of the knife between her thumb and index finger, the young demon took aim and threw the copper dagger at the holy entity. She watched as the weapon cart -wheeled end over end until the sharp blade found its target.

Castiel saw the knife as it left her slender fingers but was unable to move fast enough to avoid impact. The qeres and ancient rite the demon had started had weakened and slowed his reflexes. The angel felt the burn as the blade entered the flesh of his vessel and dropped to his knees. Swaying slightly, Castiel regarded the demon in bewilderment, before silently slumping to the floor.

"There, two angels down," Bethany sighed, glancing at the motionless dark-skinned vessel on the bed. "Two hunters to go."

Turning, she looked at the elder Winchester as he sat clutching his chest, staring wide-eyed at the body that had once housed the soul of his rescuer. "Dean, this isn't what I wanted. I gave you every opportunity to avoid this, but you fought me every step. Now, as your punishment, your brother will suffer." Laughing, Bethany spread her arms.

A clap of thunder reverberated and the room shifted minutely, the air rippled, then all was still. The demon vanished, taking the hunters with her - leaving the dead and dying in her wake.


	15. Chapter 15

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 15**

The waves lapped hungrily at the shoreline, cooling and drenching the sun-baked sand before pulling back into the expanse of the ocean body. The man stood at the water's edge, allowing the waves to crest over his bare feet, soothing the heat in his lower extremities. Raising a hand to shield the sun from his hazel eyes, he gazed at the clear blue sky as the warm rays soothed his tired muscles.

The young man dropped his hand, returning his focus to the welcoming water as it raced up to the shore, teasing his feet and cooling the sand beneath them. Sighing contentedly, he stepped knee deep into the surf. There was something about the whispering waves and the faint call of the seagulls that he found comforting. Turning to look at the sandy surface, he felt his lips curl into a sad smile as he recognized the location. It felt wrong to be here without Jess, it was her families' beachfront property after all.

Sam shifted his gaze to the shoreline, searching out the rock formation that had been their favourite place. The natural structure hid a small portion of the beach, giving the young lovers a secret hideaway at the few Moore family functions Sam had attended. Spying the rocks, the young hunter let his smile fade from his lips. A single dark figure stood on the out-cropping, gazing at the sea.

Keeping the unknown man in sight, Sam waded through the water to the shore. This was his and Jessica's special place; the intruder didn't belong here marring the peaceful scenery - conflicting with Sam's memories.

Reaching the water's edge, Sam paused, studying the form on the rocks, a vague feeling of recognition needling past his incessant anger. The interloper still hadn't looked in Sam's direction, remaining motionless, his face turned to the sea. Moving forward at a quicker pace, the young hunter approached the outcropping, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. He didn't need to see the man's face, the casual stance and slumped shoulders were all the hazel-eyed Winchester needed to recognize the individual.

Sam scurried up the rock formation, coming to a halt behind the tall man. "Dean?" he called softly. The figure turned slowly to face him.

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, the younger hunter stepped toward his brother, wanting to comfort and assuage the pain and sadness in the older man's face. Never before had he seen such unabashed emotion and desolation come from the elder hunter. "Dean?" Sam asked. "What's wrong?"

Dean ran a strong hand across his mouth and jaw before raking it through his sandy hair. "I'm tired, Sammy," he sighed. "I can't do it anymore…"

"What are you talking about? Can't do what?" Sam asked, clasping his hands to keep from reaching out to Dean. The last thing his sibling would want was to be coddled by his little brother.

Tears pooled in the elder man's green eyes, his lips quivering ever so slightly as he struggled against the emotional outburst that pushed for release. "I can't fight anymore. I don't want to, I'm so damn tired."

"You have to, Dean. This war - the world - needs us," Sam spoke thickly, his own emotions clogging his throat. "I need you."

Dean shook his head dejectedly, turning to look at the waves crashing against the rocks. "No, Sammy. You don't," he whispered.

Deciding that a touch was exactly what his brother needed, Sam laid his hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing gently as he brought the older man around to face him. "You're wrong, Dean," he confided. "I can't do this alone; I need you to have my back, like I have yours. I need to have something tangible, to remind me what we're fighting for. 'Cause sometimes…Sometimes, I just don't know why we keep doing it."

"You heard her, I'm going back to hell," Dean stared at his baby brother, memorizing every stress line - every crease and every scar that didn't belong on a face so young. "Deep down, I think I already knew I would go back to the Pit."

"No," Sam exclaimed. "You don't know that. Cas didn't even know for sure…"

"But I do," Dean interrupted. "A part of me is still there, Sam. My confidence is shot. I don't know, maybe the part of me that was strong and fearless - the hunter, he's still there."

Stepping away from his brother's touch, Dean scooped up a small rock from the ground. He tossed it into the sea, watching it hit the surface, sending up a ripple that was quickly eaten by the steady flow of the surf. "I wish I had never come back," he murmured so softly Sam almost didn't hear him.

Feeling a cold knot in the pit of his stomach, the youngest Winchester stared incredulously at the man he thought he knew. "What? Why the hell would you say that, Dean?"

"Coming back jacked everything up. When I go to the pit this time, I'll know it was all for nothing." Dean turned from the ocean to face his sibling. A single tear slipped from one eye and trailed his cheek, dropping onto the collar of his shirt. "When I go back this time, I'll know that you're using the demon powers - that you're playing with fire and there's every chance you won't win."

Sam looked at the ground, inhaling deeply. "Dean, I'm doing good with my abilities. I'm saving people."

"Yeah, so you have. Probably saved my ass more times than I care to count. But that's beside the point," Dean waited for Sam to look at him before continuing, "Your powers are getting stronger. I don't know how or why, but they are. The thing about power, it corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. You start out doing good, but as you get stronger - who knows." He ended with a shrug.

Feeling a warm sensation on the balls of his feet, Sam dropped his gaze to the rock surface. A pale, flickering light illuminated the area beneath him, heating the rocks he stood on. Puzzled, he looked up to direct Dean's attention to the strange glow - only to find he was alone. His brother was nowhere in sight.

Pulling his burning feet from the scorching rock surface, he cupped his mouth with his hands, calling fearfully for his brother. Not getting an answer, the young hunter quickly jumped from the rock formation, running to the edge of the beach and the cooling waves. Stepping in to the water, Sam hissed as the liquid burnt his skin, and he pulled back. Everywhere he touched sent an unbearable searing heat into his lower extremities.

Seeing the blisters beginning to form, Sam Winchester cried out.

Jolted awake by his own cry of pain, Sam looked around. The cell was dimly lit with a single gas lantern; the rock walls and ceiling were barely illuminated in the faint glow. Turning his head, the young hunter could see the hard-packed dirt floor. A cave. He was in a cave.

After checking the lay of the room, Sam began a self-inspection. He was laid out on a stone slab, his arms and legs shackled to the makeshift altar. The burning sensation had followed him from his dream, and he raised his head to gain a better view of his lower limbs. Two lit pillar candles rested beneath his feet, situated so the flames licked along the sensitive soles. Biting back a pain-filled moan, the young hunter looked around for the person responsible for his current situation.

"About time you woke up," a soft voice filled the dank room. Bethany stepped from the shadows where she had been watching the young Winchester. "I was beginning to think I'd have to cut your damn feet off to wake you."

Crossing to the candles, she pinched out their flames then looked at the young man on the slab. "I was getting rather bored waiting."

Breathing through the pain, Sam again searched the room, trying to see past the shadows and listening intently. Unable to locate his _**brother, the **_hunter turned his gaze on the demon. "Where's Dean?" he demanded.

"Oh, let's not worry about him, Sammy. We have so much to talk about, so much to do." Bethany examined his blistered feet carefully before giving the young man her complete attention.

"My name is Sam." he bit out. "Where the hell is my brother?"

"My, my," the demon cooed. "And all this time I thought you were the polite Winchester. My mistake." She disappeared into the dark shadows, returning seconds later with a wheeled tray.

In the faint glow of the lantern, Sam could clearly see the utensils scattered on the tray's surface. Several of the implements were unfamiliar to the young hunter but the ones he did recognize sent a shudder through his body.

Humming, the woman began to organize the items, her black eyes dancing in excitement. She was looking forward to spilling some Winchester blood; it had been a long time since she had one to play with. Memories of the oldest Winchester floated through her mind, images of his blood-soaked body and the echoes of his screams bringing a fond smile to her lips. Oh, how had she enjoyed playing with John. Now it was Sammy's turn - then Dean. She had yet to have Dean on her table, and she didn't need him to be. She had all the weapons for his undoing right here.

Clearing his throat, the young hunter watched the girl nervously. "Are you humming Metallica?" he queried.

She smiled at his question. "Yeah. It's the damndest thing. I didn't really care much for Metallica when I was - you know, human. But I find it quite relaxing now." Pausing, she gazed at her victim. "Funny what habits you pick up when you spend a lot of time with someone."

Shifting his gaze from the woman to the wall behind her, Sam thought about what she had said. _I find it relaxing_… There was only one person he knew of that would use Metallica as a balm for rattled nerves. Dean couldn't be the only die-hard Metallica fan that went to hell. There had to be others. His brother couldn't have been close enough to this demon bitch that his quirks had rubbed off on her.

"Where's my brother?" Sam asked, careful to keep his voice calm and devoid of emotion. "I just want to know if he's okay…uh…I'm sorry I don't know what to call you. Do I call you Kimberly?"

Blinking owlishly, Bethany stared at her captive, tugging her lower lip pensively before responding, "You can call me Kim, if you want. But my name is Bethany."

Surprised that she had revealed her name, she shuffled the tools on her tray as a distraction. Why had she told him her name? It was crazy. She never gave out her true name willingly, no demon did. Names gave power to the user. That's why so many demons had various aliases, but never revealed their true names. What was it about these Winchesters that got under her skin, weakened her? She had suffered many penalties because of the Winchester clan, and still she hadn't learned her lesson.

Chewing his inner lip thoughtfully, the young man tried to quell the uneasy feeling that stole over him as soon as the girl said her name. He tried to find a reason for his reaction, but it eluded him. With a sigh, he watched the demon moving the implements on the tray. "Bethany?" he asked softly. When she didn't respond, the young hunter tried again. "Beth?" He almost choked on the name as soon as it passed his lips._ Beth!_

A shiver traveled his spine - he had heard that name before. Dean had whispered it in his sleep on more than one occasion, but Sam had never asked about it. The nights when Beth's name was sighed, were the nights that his brother didn't wake screaming or terrified. Sam had come to associate the simple name with good, happy dreams for his sibling. Dreams he had been certain he didn't want a description of. Now, he realized that Beth was more than a dream for Dean; she was an actual being - from his time in hell.

Quickly getting his runaway thoughts in check, the hunter again tried to get the girl's attention. "Bethany, where is my brother?"

Raising her head from her trivial task, the demon smiled coldly. "Don't worry; he's fine - for now. We have some business to attend to. After that, if you're still conscious, I'll let you hear your brother." Picking up an awl from the tray, she approached the restrained man.

An anguished scream reverberated off the stone walls causing the woman to jump, dropping her chosen tool of torture to the hard-packed earth. Turning her head, her gaze went to the small speaker in the dark corner of the cave. Dean was awake.

Hearing his sibling's scream, Sam struggled against the shackles, trying to look in the direction the demon was staring at, needing to see what had caused the tortured scream. Unable to see anything, the young hunter called to his brother. "Dean! DEAN!!"

-000-

Feeling an all too familiar ache in his shoulders, Dean snapped to instant wakefulness. He knew without looking that his hands would be chained over his head and he could feel the cold stone wall behind his back. Hanging by his wrists wasn't new for him, but it was something a body never got used to.

He blinked several times before realizing his eyes were open, yet there was no difference in the pitch of the darkness whether his green orbs were opened or closed. Holding his breath, he listened for any telltale clues as to where he was. The silence enveloped him, suffocating him in a deafening sensation. Releasing the held breath, he pushed down the panic that threatened to take over and send him into a hysterical frenzy.

The hunter squinted his eyes, trying to see something - anything in the blackness. Unable to make out even subtle nuances of shadow shapes, he closed his eyes. Where the hell was he? How did he get here?

Forcing himself to relax, Dean sniffed, trying to pick up the odours of the room. Surprised by the dank, earthy scent that assailed his nostrils, the young man drew in another breath. There was no sulphur - no blood, the lack of the stench he was accustomed to filled him with a feeling of unease. Something was wrong, but what? Where was the putrid smell of blood and decay? Where was he?

Dropping his head to his shoulder, Dean tried to recall what he'd been doing before this, maybe then he'd be able to figure out which chamber he was in. _Sensory Deprivation._ Just the thought sent an almost phobic fear through him and he swallowed convulsively.

Clenching his jaw, the hunter fought back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. There was nothing, no light, no sound - he was alone. He didn't know how long he had been the Sense Dep chamber; in the dark, soundless room, there was no way to mark the passage of time.

Twisting his hands, he could feel the heavy chains that were clamped to his wrists and most likely fastened to rings embedded in the rock wall. The faint clink of the moving links brought a smile to the elder Winchester's lips. Any sound was welcome in the deafening silence, and he shook his hands, causing the chains to clatter. Any sound was good.

As his arms grew weary of moving the heavy chains, Dean stilled. God, how he hated this room - the darkness and silence closed in, suffocating him. Raising his head from his shoulder to lean against the wall, the lone man began to hum, the sounds of his vocal vibrations breaking into the quiet atmosphere.

He couldn't remember what he had said or done to anger the head honcho, but whatever it was it had to have been pretty serious. Alastair rarely used this particular torment on the hunter; he didn't want Dean becoming desensitized. It gave the demon something to hold over the headstrong Winchester's head.

The few times Dean had been in the Sense Dep. Chamber, Alastair made sure it was a long drawn out stay.

When he had finally been taken from the chamber, he'd been hung from meat hooks in the busiest, brightest room. Going from utter darkness and silence to the highly illuminated chaos was another brand of torture. Even when the young hunter had squeezed his eyes closed, the light had seeped through his lids and the sounds - the sounds had risen to an ear-splitting level, until he had been sure his ears would burst from the racket.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Dean started to sing every song he could remember, starting with his favourite Metallica album. As the time crawled slowly, the hunter was able to keep a rough count of the passing minutes by the remembered length of each song. To maintain a fairly accurate measure of time, he vocalized every drum and guitar solo of each tune.

An hour into his impromptu concert, his voice became raspy, his throat was dry and raw from his continuous performance. The young hunter stopped singing and was once again assaulted by the dead silence of the room. Not wanting to lose track of the time, he began to count the seconds, raising a finger to mark each minute. Seconds blurred into minutes and he began to lose count as a mind-numbing confusion seeped into him, derailing his concentration.

Dean shook his head forcefully, accidentally slamming it into the too-close wall. Growling at his stupidity, the elder Winchester fought to hold onto the last remnants of coherent thoughts. He couldn't let himself lapse into the giddy hysteria that was waiting at the edges of his mind, he had to stay alert. If he didn't stay focused he wouldn't find - find what? What was he supposed to be looking for? Again, the feeling that something was wrong inched into his thoughts.

Sagging against the wall, Dean stopped trying to direct his thoughts; instead, he let his mind wander, hoping it would lead him to what he had forgotten. Sam had always said that sometimes you had to stop thinking about a problem before you could find the solution.

"Okay college boy," he whispered. "I got myself into a jam here. Any suggestions?" Cocking his head, he swore he could almost hear the soft timbre of his baby brother's voice.

Smiling, Dean nodded in response to an imagined reply. "I don't know how I got here this time. I've been real careful about not pissing Alastair off." Again, the hunter waited until the sibling in his head finished speaking.

"I can't do this anymore, Sammy. I'm tired. I hate this room." Dean's voice caught on a sob. "I can't fight anymore. You don't know what it's like here." Tears slid unnoticed from the elder hunter's eyes as he continued to talk to the brother that wasn't there.

"It could be days - days, before they'll let me out. I can't…I'm not strong enough. I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry I let you down. I failed you; I haven't been there for you…" Pausing, he listened to the voice in his mind. "No, you don't need me. You're stronger than me, Sammy. You always were."

"I think I was dreaming, before I woke up in this shit hole." The elder hunter looked up; he could see Sam approaching from the shadows. He didn't know how he was able to see the younger man in the inky-black of the room, and he didn't care. His brother was there, he wasn't alone. That's all that mattered.

"Sam," he breathed. "You're here."

Sam sat on the floor in front of his sibling. "Yeah, I'm here. You had a dream?"

Dean looked at the younger man, smiling through his tears, not even questioning the fact that Sam just sat on the dirt surface, not even trying to help him escape the chains. "Yeah. Dude, it was seriously messed up. An angel pulled me from the pit. Then left me to crawl outta my grave. Nice job by the way. Where were you trying to bury me? China?"

Shrugging, the younger hunter answered softly, "I didn't want any animals digging you up before I figured out how to get you back."

Pulling his lips into his patented Dean Winchester 'that makes sense' frown, Dean nodded. "Okay, well I guess you succeeded there. Anyway, after I got out I found Bobby, then you. Sometime after that I met Cas face to face."

"Cas?" the younger hunter questioned.

"Castiel, the angel."

"Dean, you know angels aren't real, right?" the younger man queried.

"I know that," Dean snipped. "I'm the one that tried to beat that into that freaky head of yours."

"Okay, continue," Sam said with a nod.

"It was pretty much the usual after that. Hunting things that needed hunting. Oh, and the apocalypse was hanging over our heads. Apparently that's why God wanted me pulled from hell, to stop it."

"Hero complex much?" Sam laughed. "So you were gonna stop the end of the world?"

Dean looked at his brother. "No. _We were, together."_

"Ooookay," Sam smirked. "Anything else happen? Did we save the world?"

"Uh…I didn't get that far. But you were running with that skank Ruby and she was gettin' you to use those freaky demon powers."

Getting to his feet, the younger man shook his head. "Pretty weird, Dean. Even for you."

"You're telling me," Dean snorted, his gaze following his brother's every move. "So did you figure out how to get me out of here?" he asked hopefully.

Laying his hand on the older man's shoulder, Sam shook his head once again. "You know I'm not really here, right?" he asked softly.

The elder hunter's eyes widened as he took in what the younger man said. "No, I'm not hallucinating. I can't be. I haven't been here that long. Have I?"

"I don't know how long you've been here. Long enough to have freaky, weird dreams, that's for sure." Sam stepped back, fading into the shadows.

"No! Sam, come back!" Dean cried, tears flowing freely. "Don't leave me. Sam? SAM!"

Watching the illusion of his sibling vanish into the darkness, the little piece of sanity the elder Winchester had been clinging to shattered, along with his heart. There were no angels. No brave rescuing little brothers. There was only the blood, and pain of hell.

Pulling against the chains in panicked desperation, dislocating his shoulder in the process, Dean released all his fear, anguish and desolation in a single word. "SAAAAAAM!"


	16. Chapter 16

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 16**

He could feel the beads of sweat dripping from his brow. The feverish heat cast an unnatural hue to his pale features. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he glanced around the room, his eyes confirming what his ears already told him - the room was empty.

Gritting his teeth, the weary angel gripped the handle of the ancient blade, yanking it from the upper front shoulder of his vessel. Blood flowed from the wound, quickly saturating the clothing on the host body. Dropping the dagger onto the floor, Castiel gingerly removed the trench coat and suit jacket that had become just as much as a part of him as the blue eyes he looked through.

Rising to his feet, Castiel shuffled toward the sink in the little kitchenette, tugging the tie from his collar as he walked. The angel removed the white dress shirt as he came to a stop at the sink. Turning on the tap, the being ran the garment beneath the faucet, using it to clean the wound. Although the knife had missed the vital areas of his vessel, the gaping hole had to be dealt with. Angels couldn't heal damage inflicted by the ancient weapon, he'd have to wait it out, allow the body he inhabited to mend naturally. He could do nothing to speed it up.

After cleansing the laceration, the angel turned off the water and dropped the wet, bloodstained shirt onto the counter. Holding the injured arm close to his body, Castiel turned to survey the room. As his gaze fell on the twin beds, he allowed himself a moment to watch his fallen partner. The slow rise and fall of Uriel's chest was the only sign of life in the immobile form.

Shifting his gaze to the empty bed, Castiel found the item he had been looking for. The Winchester's first aid kit sat open on the coverlet. Crossing the room with slow, teetering steps, the angel paused at Uriel's side and touched the chest of the unconscious being. With a heavy heart, Castiel tried to pick up the ethereal, vibrant energy of his angelic associate, finding only the strong, natural soul of the human remained. Lowering his head, the solitary angel said a silent farewell to the departed before moving to the empty bed. Castiel picked up the first aid kit and tended to the needs of his chosen vessel, applying ointments and bandages over the wound.

Shaking his head, Castiel tried to clear his thoughts from the muddying effect of the qeres and once again rummaged through the hunters' belongings. When his hands grazed over the plastic bottle in the duffle, he pulled it from the canvas confines and removed the cover, breathing in the cleansing aroma of the holy water. Turning, he moved to the bathroom with the bottle of the blessed liquid in his hand. Upon reaching the washroom, the angel plugged the sink and poured the entire contents of the plastic container into the basin. The preternatural being splashed the water over his face, washing away the dazed confusion and restoring the fluent, clear pre-qeres thinking.

Pulling the plug, Castiel watched the holy water swirl down the drain before re-entering the main room of the hotel. His arm brushed against the bare flesh of the host body, and the holy entity glanced down at the tanned, naked torso. Returning to the beds and the canvas carryalls, the angel dug through the clothing and pulled out the first shirt he found. Dean had been gone an undetermined amount of time and fussiness over his attire was a luxury he could not afford. Castiel tugged the black tee over his broad frame, noting the snug, unfamiliar fit of the cotton material in contrast to the loose dress shirt he usually wore. Sighing, he grabbed up his beige trench coat as he walked out of the motel. Finding the Winchesters was his priority, comfort or the lack of was a trivial detail.

-0-

"SAAAAM!"

The single word echoed in the small, musty cavern, bringing tears to the youngest Winchester's eyes. Hearing the desperation in the solitary scream took Sam's breath away. Whatever had happened or was happening to his older brother had crumbled the older man's carefully structured walls and left him crying out for help. Calling for Sam.

"DEAN!" the young hunter yelled, twisting in his restraints. "Dean, can you hear me?"

The answering silence unnerved the younger man more than the anguished scream. Struggling against the chains that held him, Sam felt useless. Dean needed him - he sounded hurt and the younger Winchester couldn't get free. He couldn't help his brother.

"What did you do to him?" the hunter demanded, glaring angrily at the demon.

Bethany turned to look at her captive, her face twisted into a mask of concern. "I think I broke him," she murmured regretfully. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself, returning her gaze to the speaker in the shadows. _C'mon, Dean_. She thought, willing a sound to pass though the small box and break the heavy quiet of the room.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this, Dean was too strong to break so easily. A few measly hours deprived of sound and sight - in solitary confinement, should have done nothing more than piss the older Winchester off. Yet, the heartbreaking scream for his brother told a different tale.

Biting her lower lip, she hugged herself tighter as she strained to pick up any sound, no matter how slight. _C'mon, c'mon._ What had she done? Dean didn't handle alone time well and Sensory Deprivation had always been a sore spot with him. She had always thought Alastair had been ribbing Dean when he had made comments about Dean's weakness. Now she wasn't so sure.

Tears filled her eyes, but didn't fall as her mind raced to find a solution. A catatonic soul was useless; she couldn't take him back to hell like that. It wasn't just because the head executioner's wrath would come down on her, but because Bethany couldn't bear to see Dean become one of the Jell-O-boys. Okay, she broke him - she'd fix him.

Sam glared at the vile creature that was responsible for his brother's suffering. "Broke him?" he growled. "What the hell does that mean? What did you do to him?"

Spinning on her heel, the demon faced the young hunter, making no attempt to hide the remorse and sadness she was feeling. With a heavy-hearted sigh, she gripped the metal bands that secured the young man to the stone slab. She'd made a lot of bad choices today, what was one more?

Feeling Sam's questioning gaze on her, she glanced at him before releasing his restraints. "Don't screw with me, Samuel," she warned. "If you try anything I will kill your brother, then you. And you better believe that's a promise - not an idle threat."

As the shackles fell away from his wrists, Sam pushed himself to a sitting position and watched in bewilderment as the demon freed his ankles. Looking down at his white thighs, the young hunter found himself wishing he had taken the time to throw on some clothes back at the motel. Not that it would've helped, if the demon bitch was intent on a torture session she probably would have removed them anyway. Sitting on the cold slab in his boxers made the young hunter acutely aware of the damp, cool air of the cave.

"Now, we're going to Dean," Bethany said in a firm, no nonsense tone. "You'll do as I say or I will follow through with my promise, understand?"

Nodding in acknowledgement, Sam swung his legs over the side of the altar, and slid his bottom to the edge of the stone slab. Tentatively, he placed his tender feet onto the cool dirt surface, swallowing a groan as he put his full weight on the blistered soles. Blinking back the hot tears, the young hunter attempted a shuffling step forward. A bolt of white-hot pain lanced through his feet, causing his knees to buckle, and he stumbled back against the altar.

Bethany watched the man intently, waiting for any signs that he would try to escape. Seeing his unsteady movements, she stepped to his side, sliding a supporting arm around the tall hunter's waist. Rolling her eyes, the demon half smiled when Sam tensed at her touch. _Hmm, I wonder if he cringes when Ruby touches him? _She mused silently, shaking her head at the irony.

Feeling his skin crawl where her arm rested against him, Sam fought the urge to pull away; instead, he eyed the demon suspiciously. "Why are you doing this?"

"You looked 'bout ready to face-plant," she replied flippantly, knowing he wasn't referring to her assisting his upright stance.

"No, why are you taking me to Dean? Why do you care?"

"Because I need you to do that thing you guys do," she answered, avoiding eye contact with the young hunter. "He's no good to me as a vegetable, you know."

Sam pushed the supporting arm of the demon from his waist and placed his palms on the stone table behind him. Taking on the weight of his frame with his arms, he glared at the entity. "What do you mean vegetable?" he hissed angrily.

Returning an icy glare of her own, Bethany crossed her arms over her chest. "I guess you better figure out how to walk on your own if you want to see your brother. Let's go." Moving away from the enraged Winchester, the demon picked up the gas lantern and started for the opening that had been hidden in the shadows.

Slowly, the young hunter took a pain-filled step towards the woman, biting down on his lip to stifle the whimper as it rose from his throat. Closing his eyes, Sam drew a deep breath and shifted his limbs to take the burden from his insteps to the sides of his injured feet. He exhaled before opening his hazel orbs to look down at the water-filled bubbles on his reddened soles. Clenching his jaw, the youngest Winchester approached the dark being in a stilted gait. "What did you do to my brother?" he asked, gripping her shoulders tightly, as much as for a steadying support as to insinuate a threat.

"Look, the longer we stand here arguing, the longer it'll be before you get to him. So, it's up to you, stand here and chat or go to Dean. Well?" Bethany stood rigid, waiting for Sam to release his hold on her.

Sam pushed her away roughly, hissing as his sensitive soles made contact with the earth. The renewed upsurge of nauseating agony adding fuel to his already infuriated state. "Fine, but you'll be talking on the way."

The young demon looked over the man, pausing as her gaze reached his bare feet. With an impatient huff, she turned away and walked into the darkened recesses of the cave. When she returned she threw a pair of boots at Sam. "Put them on. I don't know if they'll fit, but it'll be better than you slowing me down 'cause you stepped on a rock and got an owie."

Sam bent to pick up the boots that had landed at his feet, his heart thudding hard within his chest. He gently rubbed a thumb over the leather, a fresh wave of tears stinging his tired eyes. Holding the footwear in a reverent manner, he looked at the demon girl. "Dean," he whispered softly, thinking of his sibling somewhere inside the cave, barefoot and injured.

"Just put them on and let's go," Bethany growled irascibly. "I'd give you some pants, but Dean is still using them."

Retuning his gaze to the boots in his hands, the young hunter contemplated the lesser of two evils. Dean's feet were somewhat smaller than his own and if he wore the boots, he would be guaranteed to break the blisters. However, if he chose to walk barefoot over the earthen floor they'd most likely burst anyway, leaving open wounds in direct contact with the dirt. Unsure of the best path to take, Sam glanced up at the demon before speaking. "I can't wear these, they're too small…"

"Oh for Crissake!" Bethany exclaimed in frustration. "Just put them on, damnit."

"Have you seen my feet?" the young Winchester spat back. "I wouldn't get two feet before the damn blisters broke."

Dropping her gaze to the man's feet, the demon heaved a sigh. Maybe the flaming wake-up call wasn't her best idea, but hell, she didn't expect to have to take him to his brother either. With a slow shake of her head, she met the hunter's heated gaze. "Sit down," she commanded in resignation, moving to stand beside the altar.

Sam approached the stone slab, wincing with each step; coming to a halt in front of the demon, he regarded her with a wary curiosity.

"I said, sit," she groused impatiently, nodding at the platform.

The hunter complied grudgingly; pulling his body onto the rock table, he couldn't help the sigh of relief as his feet left the floor. Sitting stiffly with legs dangling over the edge, he stared at the demon. "What now?"

Sitting the gas light on the dirt surface, Bethany leaned down to examine her handiwork, prodding the larger blemishes with a fingertip, smiling unapologetically when the hunter gasped. With a soft click of her tongue, the demon straightened to look at her captive. "Well, you're right, there's no way you can wear the boots. But your toes are unmarked. Did you happen to take ballet as a youngster? Maybe you could tippy-toe," she quipped.

Seeing the man's dark glare, she held up her hands in mock surrender before taking a seat on the altar next to him. The girl tugged off Kimberly's hiking boots and peeled off the white sport socks, handing them to the injured hunter. "They aren't sanitary by any means - I swear Kim perspired like a man. But it'll keep your skin away from the much more unsanitary floor."

Sam held the socks and sat unmoving. He couldn't get his mind wrapped around the girl's odd personality - even for a demon she was strange. One minute she was hell bent on destroying them, the next, she was helping him get to Dean. It didn't make sense at all and the young hunter found it made her actions hard to predict. Sighing, he watched Bethany almost studiously. What was her game plan? What did she want? And more disturbing - did _she_ even know what she was after?

"Well?" Bethany asked, interrupting his thoughts. "It'll be a rough walk, but you are Dean's blood - so I'm sure you'll manage."

The youngest Winchester gingerly slid the foot coverings over his blistered skin and pushed himself gently to a stand, drawing a quick breath as his insteps took his weight. He leaned against the altar, trying to relegate the pain to the back of his mind. When Bethany stepped to his side and offered a supporting arm, he accepted and they started the long walk to Dean.

As much as the hunter hated the woman's touch, the haunting cry of the older man still echoing in his mind obliterated his moral discomfort. If he wanted to find his brother, he had to work with the dark being. Once he found Dean, he would deal with schizophrenic demon.

Sam leaned heavily on the supernatural entity, flinching with each limping step as they trudged slowly through the cave.

-0-

Keeping a steady pace, Castiel walked the long trek back to the Impala. A surge of extreme panic entered his soul and he knew without question that the powerful emotion came from his young charge. The angel halted abruptly, waiting as the debilitating effects of Dean's state of mind faded, then passed. Empathy was both a curse and a gift and without his full strength, the human emotions overpowered him - consuming his own thoughts. Once the worst of the emotional overload dissipated, Castiel resumed his search for the black classic.

Growing weaker with each passing mile, the angel finally shuffled his way to the section of road where the Impala had been. All evidence of the accident that had held up the traffic, causing their sudden departure from the Impala, had been cleared. Only tiny glass particles remained gleaming in the sunlight. Castiel stopped, gazing at the area around him, turning a slow circle as he surveyed the landscape forlornly - the Impala was gone.

Confused, the ethereal being placed his fingertips on his temples, tapping into his power reserves that were already running low. He had to get to Dean and Sam and without his angelic abilities; Dean's car was his only means of transportation. Nodding silently to himself, the angel dropped his hands to his sides, he now knew where the Impala was, the location only complicating matters exponentially. Getting the classic Chevy from the impound lot was now at the top of his list of priorities, he couldn't risk the arsenal in the trunk being discovered. More importantly, he didn't want to face the fury of the elder Winchester once he found out where his vehicle was.

Turning in the direction of the impound lot; the exhausted holy being began the long hike into town.

-0-

Helping the shaggy-haired hunter sit on a large rock jutting from the dirt surface, Bethany wondered, and not for the first time since their journey began, whether she was strong enough to just carry the six-foot-plus man to their destination. As they had travelled the dark tunnels, Sam's stamina had dwindled considerably. His obvious agony was draining his energy, forcing them to stop several times so he could rest and she could check his feet. After the first pit stop, she refrained from removing the socks. Many of the blisters had broken, and the fluid seeped onto the cloth coverings, matting them painfully to the raw skin.

While the young hunter sat on the rock, giving his screaming extremities a much-needed reprieve, Bethany closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind - searching for the elder Winchester. She knew where he was physically, but mentally she was unsure. The bond they had forged in the pit had grown weaker and all but deteriorated since Dean had escaped and the demon was finding it harder and harder to get a read on him. Grumbling in frustration, she opened her ebony orbs to find Sam staring at her inquisitively.

"What?" she snapped, glaring at the man she had come to regard as competition.

"I was just wondering why don't you just - you know, zap us to Dean?" Sam asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the pain from his tone.

Looking at him sheepishly, the demon tugged at her bottom lip before responding. "Well, I…uh…You see I had to make sure there was no interference - from either side. So I inscribed several symbols to prevent any kind of supernatural entrance." She caught Sam's incredulous glance and hurried to explain her actions. "I didn't make it so I couldn't get in, but rather so entry has to be gained physically, not magically."

Despite the excruciating pain he had to endure, Sam was relieved she couldn't teleport them to Dean's locale. During their silent trek through the tunnels, he had noted every twist and turn, locking the route in his memory. Once he had Dean, the demon wouldn't be around long enough to guide them back - he'd make damn sure of it. So having to walk was actually a blessing, even if his feet screamed in protest.

"We still got a ways to go, are you ready move on?" Bethany asked, approaching her travel companion.

Nodding, Sam allowed the demon to help him to his feet, hissing as the tender undersides took the brunt of his mass. He slipped a long arm around the being's shoulders as she slid hers across the small of his back, propping him against her to assist his hobbling steps.

As they moved forward, the hunter experimented with his walk, taking the pressure on different areas of his feet to find the most comfortable - least painful position. Deciding he needed to take his mind off his flaming agony, he turned his head to look at the woman aiding his progress.

"You knew Dean in hell, didn't you?" he questioned, walking on his heels for a few steps.

Bethany cocked her head to look up at the tall man. "Yeah."

"Did he…" Sam hesitated, uncertain if he really wanted an answer to the question he was about to ask. "Did he torture you?"

"Yeah," the dark entity replied, noticing as Sam shifted to walk on his toes.

"Is that why you're after him - us?" The young hunter turned his feet so he was walking on their outer edges.

Bethany looked away. "No."

Still trying to find a comfortable walking position, Sam stumbled at her reply. Dean had tortured the soul in hell, and that seemed like a viable reason for revenge - one he could understand, yet she claimed it wasn't her basis for her recent actions. Realizing the demon wasn't about to volunteer any information, he decided to continue his inquiry. "Well, why then? You said it had nothing to do with Lillith."

Stopping abruptly, Bethany walked away from Sam, setting the lantern on the floor. "He broke his promise," she answered casually, placing her hands on a large boulder resting against the cave wall.

"He broke a promise? That's why you want to kill us? That's why you killed Cas?" The youngest Winchester stared at her in shocked bewilderment. She was crazy! All this because of a broken promise?

She pushed on the enormous rock, grunting as she strained to move it from its position. "It wouldn't kill you to help," she spat at the young hunter.

Limping to her side, he braced his hands on the obstruction and put his weight into moving the boulder. The additional pressure on his feet brought tears to the young man's eyes and he gritted his teeth against the scream that fought to be released.

The demon cursed softly before slapping the heel of one hand on the hunter's forehead. _Coulda had a V8, _she thought giggling softly. "Use your real strength, Sammy."

"You said no magical entry," he retorted.

"As long as you are touching the rock it is physical, you're just giving it a little boost with your powers," Bethany said slowly, as if to a child. "Idiot," she added under her breath.

Scowling, the youngest Winchester concentrated on the oversized rock, willing it to move with only the power of his thoughts. Slowly it teetered, then rolled away, revealing a dark opening hidden behind its mass. Picking up the light, Sam moved forward, not waiting for or even caring if Bethany followed or not.

The lantern almost slipped through his trembling fingers as Sam's searching gaze fell on the limp figure chained to the rock wall. Drawing closer, the younger hunter set the light on the dirt floor, turning the dial to further illuminate the small cell and the restrained man.

"Dean?" Sam choked out, ignoring his own pain as he stepped up to his sibling.

The flickering glow of the gas flame reflected in the dull, vacant eyes of the elder Winchester. Taking a shaky breath, Sam stared at the blood-covered manacles around his brother's wrists. The metal bands had cut into the elder man when he had tried to break free. Holding onto the lifeless form of his brother, Sam gently unfastened the shackles that had kept Dean from falling to the damp earth.

Sam cradled his sibling to his chest as he knelt on the cavern floor, his fingers searching for a pulse at the neck of the elder hunter. A low keening moan began in the center of his being, building into a mournful sob as the youngest Winchester pulled his big brother into a tight embrace.

Raising his tear-streaked face, Sam glared at the demon, his grief fuelling the hatred and anger that surged through his veins. "You f**king bitch!" he screamed. "You killed him."

Clinging to Dean's body and rocking back and forth Sam unleashed a burst of psychic energy, throwing Bethany across the room, slamming her into the wall before dropping her to the dirt surface.

Bethany scrambled to her feet quickly, staring at the distraught Winchester, her features unreadable. "He's not dead, you stupid ass."

"You lying whore!" the young man roared, sending out another surge of demonic power, knocking the dark being off her feet and unto the hard-packed ground.

Getting up, the demon dusted herself off and glared at her attacker. "Easy there, Herc. You might hurt yourself." With a smile, she folded her small fingers into a fist and concentrated on the youngest Winchester, lashing out with her own mental abilities. Hearing Sam gasp, she reined in her assault slightly before approaching the men.

She crouched next to them and ignoring Sam's heated glare she pressed her fingers to the elder Winchester's neck.

Her smile faltered.

-0-

Julia Langille revved the little four-cylinder Toyota, letting it redline before shifting into fourth. It had been a hell of a rough day and it was only noon. Sighing, she brushed her fingers through her dark hair, grumbling incoherently about lawyers, courts and judges.

She had become a social worker to help kids, to give those that had drawn the short straw a fighting chance at a decent life, not to spend more than half her time in a courtroom. It seemed she was spending more and more time with lawyers, paperwork, and less with the children she wanted to help. She was really beginning to rethink her career choice.

With an exasperated huff, the woman again over revved the engine before shifting. The sounds of the growling motor and the feel of the asphalt beneath the tires gave her a false sense of freedom, one she wanted to hang onto no matter how temporary.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, the young brunette glanced down long enough to turn the radio dial, searching for a station playing something loud and fast. She looked back at the road, catching sight of a lone figure walking slowly along the gravel shoulder. Caught up in her curiosity, Julia let up on the gas and allowed the car to slow. Ducking her head, she looked out the window at the dark-haired stranger as she pulled up alongside him.

The man turned to face the car, his lost and woeful expression going straight to Julia's soft heart and she brought the little car to a full stop. Rolling down the passenger side window, she called to the mysterious man. "Hey buddy, you okay?" The figure gazed at her mutely, not moving towards the car, his beige trench coat billowing behind him in the breeze.

_Sheesh, he looks like a kicked puppy. _Julia thought to herself, seeing the timid, uncertain look on the man's handsome features. Going against all her unwritten rules of how she lived her life, the social worker pressed the power lock button, unlocking the passenger's door. "Can I give you a ride somewhere?"

Castiel stepped towards the car, bending to utter a hurried thank-you before opening the door and dropping wearily onto the seat.

"Where to?" Julia asked, glancing at the stranger. Oddly, she didn't feel the slightest bit of unease as the man shifted in the seat to look at her beseechingly.

"My friend had left his car on the road awhile ago and now it's gone. I need to find it." the angel replied, meeting the woman's gaze.

"Oh, it's probably been impounded," Julia said comfortingly, slipping the Toyota into first and starting towards town. "You're in luck; I'm going right by there."

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. He had never felt more alone than he had walking the deserted street and he had prayed to his Father for direction, hoping he had made the right decision in going after the Winchesters. Then God sent Julia to speed up his search - there was no question, he was on the right path.


	17. Chapter 17

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 17**

_The dim nightlight cast an eerie glow over the room, bringing the shadows to full realization. Under the window sat a small racing car bed embracing the little form nestled beneath the blankets. A team of superheroes danced along the wallpaper, following a distinct eye-catching pattern. With a barely audible sigh, the tow-haired child rolled over and the stuffed dog fell from his lax fingers to the floor._

_A dark figure stepped from the shadows the pale light could not reach, his boot clad feet moving silently over the carpet. Approaching the bed and child, the man stooped to pick up the toy. He rubbed a thumb over the blue fur of the worn dog, a melancholy smile on his handsome features. Gazing down at the child, the dark form gently laid the stuffed toy next to him. As the boy's arms wrapped around his precious friend, the man chuckled lightly and brushed the fine hair from the little one's face. The child stirred, whimpering in his sleep, and the interloper withdrew his hand quickly, reversing his steps to return to the shadows._

_Sitting up with wide unseeing eyes, the little boy screamed. _

_Before the frightened scream faded, the door burst open, thudding against the wall in the newcomer's haste. Rushing to the bed, the woman scooped the green-eyed boy into her arms, kissing his forehead as she crooned softly. "Shh, Dean it's okay. Mommy's here. I gotcha, it was just a dream, sweetie. I gotcha."_

_As the boy quieted, the blonde haired woman sat on the bed rocking her son in her arms, singing softly. _

_In the shadows, the man watched with tear-filled eyes. Swiping his fingers over damp cheeks, he gazed longingly at mother and son. "Mom," he whispered, lowering his head._

_The singing faded into silence and the floor shifted beneath him, leaving the man with an intense feeling of vertigo. Staggering into the nearby wall, he cautiously looked up, taking in his new surroundings. Immediately recognizing the hall of his old home, he turned, gazing at the stairs and the landing below. Hearing a soft sound filtering up to him, he crept slowly down the stairs, holding the banister for balance. _

_The only light in the lower level came from the eerie flicker of the muted T.V. screen. Coming to the doorway of the den, the intruder froze as a voice floated from the couch ahead._

"_Hey dude, you 'bout ready to get back to bed?"_

_I wanna watch the game with you, Daddy," the small voice replied drowsily._

"_Alright Dean," John sighed. "Just a little longer. If Mommy finds out I let you stay up this late, she'll have my hide."_

_The little boy giggled. "Daddy's scared of Mommy."_

_His father chuckled softly. "You bet I am." _

_John looked down into the cherubic face of his young son and pulled him closer to his side. "So what's wrong, buddy? You still having bad dreams?"_

_Gazing at his father with wide, trusting green eyes, Dean nodded solemnly. _

"_What do you dream about, son? What scares you so bad?"_

_The boy looked bashfully at his hero, feeling bad about the dreams he'd had. Fearing that if he voiced the bad things, they'd come true. John nodded knowingly and pulled his son into his lap, wrapping him in a comforting hug. "Well, if you don't want to talk about what's bothering you, how about I talk about what's bothering me?" he said in hushed tones._

_Dean stared at his Daddy in awe. His father was going to trust him with a secret - a grownup secret, and he wanted Dean to help him. _

_John heaved an exaggerated sigh before continuing in a whisper. "You know the baby is coming soon, and I know you will love him or her as much as Mommy and I will. And you're going to be a terrific big brother. You'll play with the baby and keep him or her safe." With a dramatic pause, the young father looked at his boy proudly. "But sometimes I worry that you'll be so busy with the baby and your very important job as big brother that you won't have time to play or go fishing with me anymore."_

_Dean wrapped his little arms around his daddy's neck, hugging him tightly. "Daddy, I'll always have time to play with you, I promise." Hesitating, the boy leaned back to look at his father before adding timidly, "Will you and Mommy love the baby more than me?"_

_Holding his son tighter, John returned the child's wide-eyed stare. "Never," he vowed. "Mommies and Daddies have lots of love. We love each other, we love you and we'll love the baby -equally. When a new baby comes, the love gets bigger, for everyone. No one gets left out or forgotten."_

_Seeing the uncertainty in his firstborn's face, John leaned to whisper in the boy's ear. "I promise, we won't forget about you. I'll never ignore you and I'll always make time to play with you. No matter how many brothers and sisters you have. And when the baby gets older, you can teach him…"_

"_Or her," Dean cut in with a yawn._

"_Or her," John quickly amended. "How to do things. And he _or she _can play with us too. I bet you'd like that. Being the big brother can be a lot of fun."_

_Taking comfort in his father's words, Dean smiled. "I'll always play with you too, Daddy," he murmured sleepily. "And Mommy too."_

"_That's my boy," John crooned, kissing his son's forehead._

_The figure at the base of the stairs sucked in a breath, backing away from the scene with stilted movements. _He knew? _The man thought with tears in his green orbs_. Dad knew I was worried about what would happen when the baby came. He knew. And he made it seem like he was insecure, but it was me. I didn't know where I'd fit in with a baby in the house. _With his mind reeling from the revelation of the tender moments between father and son, the grown version of John's firstborn turned away, heading for the stairs and the comforting sanctuary of his old room. _

_He stopped short, staring at the floor - the stairs had completely vanished. In the space where they had been was the thin smoky grey carpet of his childhood room. Warily, he raised his head to peer around the brightly lit room. He could see every detail vividly, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Hearing a soft swish, the hunter turned to face the car bed and his younger-self snuggling under the blankets. _Star Wars, I was such a geek._, he thought, looking at the spaceship covered comforter._

_The man's mouth went dry as he suddenly realized he was standing in the center of the room in plain sight and he glanced around quickly, looking for cover. _

_Mary entered the room, sitting on the bed next to her son. She leaned against the headboard as he handed her his favourite book. Snuggling into his mother's warmth, the little boy yawned sleepily as he listened to her soft voice reading about the engine that could._

_The hunter stood transfixed, realizing he couldn't be seen. His mother had walked by close enough for him to touch, but sensed nothing. He had no idea what was going on, why he was there or if he really was there. It could well be his mind. Maybe he was hallucinating. Shrugging, the man stepped closer to the bed, his heart swelling at the sound of his mother's voice. With a sombre sigh, he rested his back against the wall behind him, his gaze locked on the figures nestled together over the book._

_Laying a hand over her swollen belly, Mary paused in her reading, causing the boy to look up expectantly. With a frown of concentration, little Dean placed his hand next to his mother's; a look of wide-eyed innocence coming over his face as he felt the baby kicking. _

"_Does it hurt?" he asked in concerned wonder._

_Placing her hand over her son's, Mary smiled warmly. "No honey, it doesn't hurt at all."_

_With a satisfied nod, he returned his attention to the restless kicking of his unborn sibling. "Gonna be a football player," he stated, mimicking the words he had heard his daddy say._

"_Or a ballerina," his mother responded automatically, ruffling her son's hair before finishing the story. _

_Leaning against the wall, the hunter chuckled softly. He had forgotten how his mother had always answered his father's declaration of the baby being a football player with the possibility of a ballet dancer. He had to remember to tell Sam that their mom thought he'd be a ballerina. The amused smile slid from his face as he thought about the brother he'd never see again._

"_Time to say your prayers," Mary said to her young son, slowly pushing herself from the bed._

_The child clasped his little hands together and bowed his head. "Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God bless…." _

_As the boy went through his list of people to be blessed, the elder Dean wiped a hand across his brow, his stomach rolling wildly. He couldn't understand why he was reliving his childhood, why he was being forced to see the parents he lost a lifetime ago. Parents Sam had never known, but Dean himself missed with every fibre of his being. There had to be a reason he was here, something he had to see from his past._

You said no magical entry.

_The hunter tensed. Lowering his arm, he narrowed his eyes, he scanned the room for the owner of the voice. It seemed familiar, despite the note of strain in the deep tone. With all senses on alert, he let his hunter's training take over. The voice fell silent, and Dean waited for several minutes before finally relaxing, returning his focus to his past._

_He felt the shift of the room and knew that he was being taken to a new scene - another part of his past, but he still had no idea why. This time he was tuned into his environment and could actually see the cartoon superheroes receding, being replaced with bright white walls. The strong odour of disinfectant assailed his nostrils and he could hear muffled voices through the wall. Maybe that was what he had heard before, he surmised - the voices before the scene change._

_The hospital room door burst open and the green-eyed boy scampered in, going straight to the pale and exhausted woman's bedside. "Mommy," he cried out. _

_Crawling onto the bed, he threw his little arms around her, chattering excitedly. "Daddy said I have a brother. Can I see him? Where is he?"_

_With a laugh, Mary returned her eldest boy's hug as he continued to ramble a-mile-a-minute. His words tumbled into an incoherent garble but she was able to pick up some of what he was saying. "…An' I can give him my old fire truck, an' teach him to play catch, an'…Where is he, Mommy? Where's my baby brother?"_

_John entered the room behind his exuberant son, shaking his head in amusement at the boy's enthusiasm. "Whoa there, son. Give Mommy a chance to talk."_

_Falling silent, Dean kissed his mother's cheek before jumping from the bed, his sparkling green eyes searching the room for his new brother. A frown formed on his face when he realized there was no baby in the room. "Where is he? I wanna see him."_

_Mary beckoned for her son to rejoin her on the bed, explaining that the nurses had taken the baby for a check-up and he'd be back soon. As mother and son cuddled, the young mechanic was once again taken by the resemblance between his wife and his firstborn. Mary's blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, brushing lightly against the little boy's furrowed brow, blending seamlessly with Dean's tousled mop. _

_The door opened, presenting a matronly nurse pushing the wheeled bassinet containing a red-faced, wailing baby Winchester. John quickly scooped up the infant, taking him to meet his big brother. _

_Clamping his hands over his ears, Dean glared at the nurse. "What did you do to him?" he demanded._

"_She didn't do anything to him, Dean. Babies cry. He's saying hi." John chuckled._

"_He should use his inside voice," the boy muttered. _

_Still chuckling, the young father lowered his precious bundle so his oldest could get a better look. "This is your big brother, Sammy," he said softly to the screaming infant._

_Dropping his hands, Dean gently touched the new addition, peering at him through uncertain eyes. Babies sure were noisy. Little Sammy quieted, his tiny hand encircling the digit of his older brother. "He likes me!" the new big brother exclaimed._

_Dean Winchester the hunter stood with his back against the wall, watching the scene unfold before his eyes. Swallowing hard, he felt his heart fill as he watched his younger self crawl into the chair and hold his baby brother, whispering a soft welcome that only older siblings could, vowing unconditional love and protection._

_And he felt an overwhelming sense of failure. He left Sam to fend for himself, he wasn't there to protect him anymore._

Dean?

_Pushing away from the wall, the hunter scanned the room with wary eyes. The voice was faint, as if it was coming from another world - another life. He flinched as he felt something drip onto his cheek; wiping his hand across his face he felt a wetness. Tears? Was he crying? He brushed fingertips over his eyes and found them dry. Still, moisture collected on his skin and he glanced up at the ceiling, searching for a leak._

_A mournful howl echoed off the walls, crushing him in its unadulterated anguish._

You F**king bitch. You killed him!

_Dean started at the ferocity of the words, again surveying the room for the speaker. Something encircled him tightly, squeezing the breath from his lungs. Gasping, the hunter lowered his gaze, examining his torso for the unseen restraint. A strange mixture of dread and security seeped into his soul, his heart beating wildly at the emotions filling him. Blinking in confusion, Dean glanced at the happy family across the room; somehow, they didn't seem as bright as they had only a moment ago. The vibrant colours were leeching from the people he loved._

He's not dead, you stupid ass.

_Shivers danced down the man's spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The hard edge to the feminine voice sent Dean into an instantaneous alert. Turning in the direction of the sound, his eyes widened as his instincts kicked in. He could see the transparent form of a woman with soulless black eyes staring in his general direction, yet she didn't seem to see him._

_A cold knot formed in his stomach and he could feel a distinct pull; something was trying to drag him to the other place. The young hunter didn't know who or what was in there, he only knew with absolute certainty that he didn't want to go. Shifting his gaze to his family, Dean cried out in dismay. They were fading, fast as the pull on his core grew stronger. Stretching out his hand, he looked pleadingly at his parents. They had to see him, save him from the dark place. He wanted to stay here, where his family were together and alive. He didn't want to go back to being alone._

You lying whore!

The enraged cry seemed to come from behind and above him.

Dean suddenly realized he was no longer standing; instead, he was laying on the floor, his back and right shoulder pressed against something solid - warm. Another drop of liquid landed on his cheek, and he became aware of his head cradled in the crook of an arm followed by the sensation of being rocked.

Keeping watch on the woman, he noticed the background around her had changed. The walls were no longer the brash white of the hospital, but the slate grey of rock and stone. As the vision of the room became clearer and more realistic, so did the woman. Dean watched in detached awe as the girl was picked up and dashed to the ground by an unseen force.

Getting to her feet, the girl glared angrily at the unknown person behind him, the person that was clinging to him - rocking him. The hospital room and his family had disappeared entirely, leaving Dean in the new reality. Where he didn't want to be.

"Easy there, Herc. You might hurt yourself," the woman said coldly.

Her obsidian glare sent a finger of dread into Dean's soul as she balled her hands into tight fists; the air of the cave was thick with her rage. He felt the figure holding him stiffen before he heard the sharp gasp of pain. Realization hit him hard. Sam. It was Sam holding him, rocking him. It was his brother's tears he felt on his face.

Remaining motionless, the older hunter recognized the girl as a demon and watched her with hooded eyes. As she drew near, she crouched down, smiling as she laid cold fingers against his neck, allowing her other hand to hang between her knees. With lightning speed, Dean grabbed the hanging wrist, his fingernails biting into her flesh. He sneered coldly as the demon's smile vanished.

-00-

Bringing the Toyota to a stop at the curb, Julia switched off the ignition and turned to look at her sleeping passenger. Other than to state his name, he had only spoken when asked direct questions and then the answers were short single syllable words. He had drifted in and out of a restless sleep for the majority of the drive and when he was awake he stared broodingly out the window. Watching the sleeping form, the young social worker frowned at the scowl that marred his features. _What horrible things has this man seen? _She wondered.

Julia took the time to really look at the silent figure before she had to wake him. His dark blue suit pants were wrinkled and stained with something that looked alarmingly like blood. The beige overcoat was becoming worn and threadbare in patches and to top off his classy ensemble, a faded black AC/DC tee shirt.

Returning her gaze to his face, she gently nudged the sleeping passenger. "Here we are," she said with a forced cheeriness as he stirred. "Uh…It's none of my business, but are you going to be able to get your car out?"

Blinking his eyes into focus, the angel looked at her in mild confusion. "What do you mean?"

Julia turned to remove the key from the ignition, using the distraction to consider her words before speaking. She had spent years reading people with little or no information to guide her conclusions. In the short time she had been in the stranger's company, she had decided that he was a proud man who happened to be down on his luck. Also, she felt reasonably sure he had little or no money.

"Well, depending on how long the car has been impounded, the towing fees and any other charges that may have been added, it could cost quite a bit to get it out. Do you think you have enough to cover it?" Brushing her dark bangs from her eyes, she smiled nervously, hoping she hadn't overstepped her bounds.

Castiel sagged in his seat, silently berating himself. He knew how human society worked. Mankind was built upon and heavily ruled by monetary gain, and he came to retrieve the Winchester's car without the preparation of an economic exchange. Feeling a gentle touch on his arm, the angel looked up, meeting the woman's gaze.

Julia saw the forlorn look on his handsome features and knew immediately he didn't have the money to pay. "Tell you what, Castiel," she began, again pondering the origins of his unique name. "I can tell you really need that car. And - God knows why, I feel that I can trust you. So I'm going to lend you the money to get your car." She quickly exited the car, closing the door before the man could protest.

Raising his eyes to the ceiling of the small vehicle, Castiel murmured a small prayer of thanks for his special gift before he got out and followed the woman into the impound lot.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N Hi all. I just wanted to let you that are reading know that I have been scheduled for carpal release surgery on my right wrist on June 4th. I am hoping to have a couple chapters done ahead, but if not there may be a longer wait between chapters. Sorry about that. Like I said I will really try to have some chaps prepared before hand. *crosses fingers*. Thanks for reading and your patience. _

_Hugs_

_Trace  
_

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 18**

Sam felt the slight shift as his sibling moved and his heart leapt into his throat. Scared that it was just his wishful thinking, the young hunter held himself still so his own movements wouldn't jar the body in his arms. Blinking back his tears, he looked down at his brother; joy rippling though him as his gaze trailed the elder man's taut forearm to the hand clasped around the demon's wrist.

"Dean?" he breathed, terrified that if he spoke any louder the spell would be broken and Dean would return to his lifeless state.

The elder Winchester focused on the being in front of him, keeping her in a firm grip as he tried to pull himself into a sitting position. A searing flash of pain shot through his right shoulder, drawing a sharp intake of breath, Dean halted his movements. As the agony dissipated, the elder hunter exhaled through pursed lips, the ache in his joint all too familiar. The shoulder was obviously dislocated although he didn't recall how it had happened.

Hearing his name in a hushed whisper, Dean shifted his gaze to the man who still held him in a desperate embrace. The familiar face loomed over him, unruly chestnut hair falling over hazel eyes. "Sam?" the elder hunter croaked in disbelief.

The arms around him felt so real; the voice, one he had heard a million times. Tearing his gaze from the face he had longed to see for too many years, Dean strengthened his resolve. He wouldn't let them trick him again; there was no way he was going to accept the thing clinging to him was his brother. They got him once, but never again.

Turning his attention back to the demon, the elder Winchester braced himself for the pain about to come, forcing himself upright and out of the other man's grasp. He felt the hands fight to hold him, then slip away.

Locking eyes with he girl in front of him, Dean masked his pain with an angry growl. "Who the hell are you?"

Feeling a firm grip on his shoulder, the older Winchester winced before brushing the offending hand away. He cast a brief glance at the teary-eyed man it belonged to. _God, it looks so much like Sam. _Clearing the disturbing thought from his mind, Dean looked back at the demon.

"I asked you a question," he bit out. "Who are you and where the hell is Alastair? I have a few choice words for that son of a bitch!"

Now that he was in a sitting position, Dean was able to get a better view of the area around him. Studying the walls and bare dirt floor, he tried to place the room in his mind. As his gaze fell on the shackles attached to the wall above him, a look of understanding passed over his features. Alastair had been promising him his own chamber for a long time. One where he could have all the toys he had created within easy reach. A private place where he could experiment and play as he wished. It was a bit empty, the only tools of his trade evident were the shackles - but it wouldn't take him long to fill it.

Nodding in satisfaction, he shifted his gaze to the impostor then back to the demon. "Well?"

Bethany noticed the suspicious glances the older man shot at his sibling. Surprised at his reaction, she studied his wary features. Giddy with the realization that Dean was confused as to where he was - and when - she quickly lowered her gaze, feigning respect for the second in command.

"Alastair is topside, sir. Being Lillith's errand boy," the young demon answered demurely.

Sam jolted at Dean's odd question. _Why would he ask about Alastair? _As Bethany spoke, he raised an eyebrow at her sudden change in demeanour. _What the hell is going on? _Chewing his lip pensively, he remained silent, studying his brother.

"Huh, figures," Dean grumbled, releasing the girl's hand. "How did I end up here? And once again, who the hell are you? And," the green-eyed hunter jerked a thumb over his shoulder, flinching at the movement. "Who the hell is that?"

Sam started, staring at his sibling incredulously. He opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off.

"I don't know," Bethany replied, smiling innocently. "He came here wearing your brother's face. He was trying to destroy you, but I stopped him."

Raising her head, she cast a gleeful glance at the youngest Winchester, laughing silently. Dean thought he was still in hell, the second in command no less and she planned to take full advantage of the situation. If Dean tortured and killed his own brother, he'd go back with her willingly.

The confused hunter struggled to his feet, holding his right arm close to his body. Once he was standing, the older Winchester turned to confront his unsuccessful assassin, his features contorted into a mask of murderous rage.

Sam's eyes widened and his blood ran cold as he looked at his big brother. He had seen the older man beyond pissed on many occasions, but never had he looked at him with such cold hatred. Even when Dean had caught him in his lies, his anger had been born more from hurt and disappointment. Now, Sam barely recognized his sibling beneath the dark emotions.

"D - Dean?" Sam stammered.

"And just when did we get on a personal basis, you slimy son of a bitch?" Dean snorted.

"What?" the younger hunter questioned, dismayed bewilderment etched on his face. "Dean, what's going on?"

The foot crashed into the younger man's chest with no warning, knocking the air from his lungs. Unprepared for the sudden attack, Sam lost his balance. Falling back from his kneeling position, his bottom grazed across tender soles of his feet before hitting the hard surface. Gasping for breath, he stared up at his older brother in wounded surprise.

"Don't go acting buddy-buddy with me, boy," Dean sneered. "You'll speak to me with respect, understood?"

Drawing a shaky breath, Sam looked at the elder man warily. He had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, he was certain the man standing over him wasn't his big brother.

Dean looked down at the figure sprawled on the floor in disgust and raising a bare foot, gave the man another kick before quickly scanning the room. Thoughts and ideas for the chamber- his chamber, stormed through his mind.

"Where's Beth?" he demanded when his gaze fell on his subordinate.

Bethany's heart did a quick pitter-patter at his words. He was looking for her - he wanted her. She cast a quick glance at the younger Winchester, then looked at Dean submissively. "I don't know, sir. Do you want me to find her?"

The green-eyed man scrutinized the girl, his face devoid of emotion. Heaving a sigh, he shook his head. "Nah, she's probably busy. Besides, if she found out what this dick was up to she'd probably destroy him before I could get any information."

Turning, he glanced at the man at his feet, a fresh burst of anger bubbling to the surface when he saw his brother's face on the vile creature. Dean watched the impostor struggling to regain his breath and smirked smugly.

"Can you fix a dislocated shoulder?" he asked the woman keeping his gaze fixed on the downed man.

"Yeah, sure. No problem," Bethany answered.

"Good," the older brother said quietly. "You get my shoulder back in place, then you can go find Beth and my tools. There's work to do."

Sam gulped air into his burning lungs, slowly regulating his breathing as he shifted into a sitting position. Ignoring his throbbing feet, he met his brother's gaze. It had to be a ruse; Dean was trying to get the demon to leave them alone. He was sure the older man had a plan; once their adversary was gone, he'd be all apologetic and remorseful for being too rough, as well he should. This time, Sam was going to milk it for all its worth.

Dean knelt beside his rival, his face mere inches from the other man's. "You screwed up royally this time. You picked the wrong one to mess with and when I'm done with you, you won't be wearing my brother's face. You won't be wearing any face for that matter."

Pushing Sam roughly, Dean stood and waited for the demon to realign his throbbing joint.

-00-

Standing beside the newly released Impala, Castiel clasped the woman's hand warmly. "Thank you, Julia. You are a good person." He paused, holding her gaze before continuing, "Don't despair, you are doing the job chosen for you. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but you are changing things for the better everyday. Don't give up on God's children, He hasn't." With a nod, he released her hand, and slid behind the wheel of the vintage Chevy. Bringing the V-8 engine to life, he pulled away from the curb.

Julia stared after the black car and its mysterious occupant slack-jawed. She hadn't said a word to her temporary companion about her misgivings in her life choices. Thinking back, she had never even mentioned her job or children. Perplexed, she shook her head, glancing at the paper in her hand to read the name and number Castiel had given her. It had cost her nearly three hundred dollars to spring the black classic; she hoped this Sam Winchester guy was good for it.

Returning to her little Toyota, Julia cast a quick glance at the now empty street ahead. As she stepped into her car a warm feeling came over her and for the first time in a long time she felt hope.

-00-

Castiel steered to the shoulder of the road and shifted into park. Leaving the motor running, he stepped from the vehicle, raising his face to the expansive blue sky.

"Father," he murmured reverently. "I need your guidance. I have lost contact with my charge, the connection has been severed. I am at a loss as to where I should go."

Lowering his head, the angel cast a quick search around him, hoping for a sign yet knowing it wouldn't be that easy or obvious. God worked in mysterious ways, even to his angels. Getting back in to the Impala, Castiel resumed his course.

-00-

"Go let Beth know I'm gonna be busy for a bit, and get my tools." Dean ordered, grimacing as he rotated his repaired shoulder. "And don't take all damn day."

Dismissing the young demon with a nod, Alastair's second in command turned to the creature pretending to be his brother. "So, you gonna talk or do I get to beat it out of ya?"

Bethany hesitated; she still couldn't get a good read on her former partner. If he was _her_ Dean, then if she didn't immediately follow his orders he'd become angered, or worse - suspicious. However, if he was the soft big brother, it could very well be a trick, and they'd try to escape. Their escape was not an option, she had been through too much, done too much - for it all to be for nothing.

Watching the elder Winchester, she finally came to a decision. She'd go long enough to gather the few weapons she had collected. If she re-set the symbols correctly, she'd know as soon as they tried to leave. With all bases covered, she glanced back at the brothers before ducking through the opening.

Sitting with his back against the wall, Sam watched as the demon left the dank cell. He shifted his gaze to his approaching brother and smiling, he blew out a relieved sigh.

"What the hell you smiling at?" Dean demanded coldly.

"Dean, she's gone," the younger hunter replied in quiet tones, looking at his sibling quizzically.

"What?" Dean glared at the impostor in disdain. "I wouldn't worry too much about what's she's doing if I were you." Reaching down, the older man grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, pulling him to a standing position. With a surprised grunt, Sam grasped Dean's wrist for support, taking some of the burden off his scalp.

As soon as his feet touched the floor, the youngest Winchester yelped in pain. Blinking rapidly, he stared at his brother in horror. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me, _little brother_," he laughed sardonically. "You just piss me off." Slamming the younger man's head against the rock wall, Dean released his grip.

"I'll ask again. Are you gonna tell me what I wanna know willingly? I really hope not, I think I'll enjoy prying the information from you." The older Winchester flexed his fingers before asking, "Who are you? Why were you trying to kill me?"

Sam touched the back of his head, feeling the goose egg already beginning to form. "It's me. Sam. You're brother."

"Bull," Dean spat. "Why would my brother be down here?"

Eyeing his sibling carefully, Sam began to get an idea of what was going on with the older man. Dean thought he was in hell; somehow, he had lost the months he had been freed. The problem was this time it wasn't a nightmare, or flashback that he could be pulled from with comforting words and a gentle touch. This time it was completely real to the elder hunter - in Dean's mind they were in a chamber in hell. Sam had to find a way to snap the older man from his delusion.

Holding his hands up, palms facing the elder hunter, Sam ran several ideas through his mind. "It's really me, Dean," he started, speaking softly. "We're not in hell; you haven't been in hell for five months. Cas pulled you out. You have to remember Castiel. The angel?"

At the mention of the holy being's name, Dean's green eyes hardened as he glared at the younger man. "You put that freaky dream in my head? What are you?"

"Dream?" the youngest Winchester queried. "It wasn't a dream. Dean, it really happened."

"Oh yeah, of course it did," Dean retorted. "And Sam was running around exorcizing demons with his mind."

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed, reaching a hand out to his brother. "You remember."

Dean blocked the younger man's hand, shoving him to the floor. "That's where you f**ked up!" he growled. "My brother wouldn't do that. He wouldn't give into the demon mojo. Not after I sold my soul to save him…not after I came here - so he could have a life. I practically begged him to steer clear of that demonic shit with my last breath. He wouldn't use those freaky powers." Pausing, Dean wiped a hand across his face before adding quietly. "He wouldn't do that to me. Not Sam."

Sam felt as if he had been punched in the stomach, the words Dean spoke cutting him deeper than any blade ever could. For the first time the young hunter realized how his sibling truly felt about his abilities and another phrase leapt to the front of his mind. _If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you._

The youngest Winchester had always thought Dean was ashamed and disgusted by the brother with the demon blood. Now, he could see that the older Winchester had taken the use of the powers as a personal attack - a disrespectful slap in the face. To the elder man, Sam using his abilities meant that he didn't care about his big brother and the sacrifice he'd made.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Sam looked at the most important person in his life. The man who had willingly given up his childhood without so much as a whimper, so the youngest Winchester could at least have the semblance of one. Trembling with the onslaught of emotions, Sam spoke softly. "You have every right to want to beat the hell out of me right now. But let's get out of here first, okay?" Choking back a sob, the younger man continued, "Dean, I'm so sorry. I didn't do this to hurt you -none of it. At first, it was because I wanted to get you back from the pit. When I couldn't do that, I just wanted to make Lillith pay for what she did to you. I still do."

_He's good_, Dean mused. _Playing on the whole 'brother, I got your back' routine. He even got the teary eyes. _Raking a hand through his hair, he began to pace, thinking about what the impersonator had said. He wanted it to be Sam, more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life or afterlife. But he couldn't bear the thought of giving into another illusion.

Studying the creature, he frowned as an idea began to take form. "Why were you holding me?" he asked. "When I woke up I was practically in your lap. Why?"

"I thought you were dead," Sam answered thickly, thinking of how close he had come to losing his brother again. "I couldn't feel your pulse. I thought…I thought that bitch had killed you."

Pausing in mid-step, Dean scowled. "You what?"

"I thought you were dead. Hell, I think she thought you were, too. Until she checked your pulse."

Drawing closer, the elder Winchester crouched to Sam's eyelevel, staring intently into the hazel orbs. "She checked my pulse?" he asked, thoughts racing in his head.

"Yeah."

"She's a demon?"

Again, the younger hunter answered in the affirmative, hope seeping in as he recognized the thoughtful expression on his sibling's face.

"She's a demon and she checked for a pulse?" the elder hunter questioned again, as if he couldn't get his mind around it. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he shook his head perplexed, before asking. "Who are you?"

Sam's hope evaporated as soon as the words passed the other man's lips. "Sam Winchester, your brother." he answered dejectedly.

"Huh," Dean breathed. Straightening, he resumed pacing, keeping a watchful gaze on the man seated on the dirt floor. "Tell me about Baloo."

"Baloo?" Sam looked at his sibling, wondering if the older man had completely snapped.

"Baloo," Dean answered firmly.

Sam's face lit in an understanding smile. "Baloo was my dog," he answered sheepishly.

"What dog?" the elder hunter pressed.

Clearing his throat, Sam shook his head, amused with Dean's sudden sentimentality. "It was this stuffed dog. You gave it to me when I was really little. I called him Baloo."

"Well," Dean said, smirking. "That's not how I remember it."

"What do you mean?" Sam exclaimed. He could remember the old blue dog vividly, there was no way he could've failed Dean's test. "That's exactly what happened."

The elder hunter came to a stop and sat on the dirt surface, across from Sam. Stretching his legs out, he looked at the younger man thoughtfully. "The way I remember it, you kept stealing that dog every chance you got. No matter where I stashed the damn thing you'd find it. And when I tried to take it back, you'd stand there screaming to high heaven 'no, my Baloo.' His name was Blue, by the way."

"Dean," Sam huffed in aggravation. "I wasn't even three, practically still a baby."

"Yeah, I know you were. Why'd you think I finally gave it to you? Even if you did call him Baloo." Dean smiled fondly at the memory and the feeling of love and family it invoked.

"I was saying Blue," Sam grumbled under his breath.

"Yeah, I know. But we thought the way you said blue was cute…So Baloo just kinda stuck."

Sam felt a resurgence of hope. Dean was talking to him, sharing memories from their childhood. But most importantly, he was saying 'you' and not 'Sam'. Finally, the elder hunter was accepting him as his brother.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, but unable to leave well enough alone, the inquisitive hunter asked. "You believe I'm your brother? What made you change your mind?"

Sighing, Dean regarded the young man before responding. "I'm not a hundred percent sure that you are who you claim to be. But I am certain of one thing." The green-eyed hunter leaned forward slightly. "You don't check for a pulse in hell."


	19. Chapter 19

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 19**

Bethany leaned against the large boulder, listening to men as they alternated between soft tones and raised voices. Hearing the hard edge in Dean's speech, she smiled to herself. Things were becoming much easier. She pushed away from the rock and stepped into the dark passage, no longer concerned about leaving the Winchesters alone. Dean was right where she wanted him.

She walked the path to her makeshift torture chamber swiftly; with the younger Winchester no longer slowing her down, she made the trip in nearly half the time. Entering the damp room, Bethany made her way through the darkness, finding the altar and her meagre instruments with ease. As she gathered the tools, the young demon thought of everything that had transpired these past few days. She had accomplished what many of the higher-level demons couldn't do. Angels had died by her hand, and the Great Winchesters were about to fall.

Smiling, the young demon hummed softly to herself. Everything was coming together and soon she and Dean would be together again - forever. Like he had promised.

-0-

"We gotta get out of here before that bitch gets back," Dean stated. Standing, he held a hand out to his brother. "Then I'll try to figure out what the hell is goin' on." _For all I know, this is all in my head,_ he added silently.

With the help of the older man, Sam managed to get to his feet, hissing as his tender insteps protested the burden of his weight. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he looked at his sibling. "Okay, I can get us to the room I was in, but after that…" the younger hunter ended the sentence with a shrug.

Dean eyed the younger man warily, still uncertain if he was his little brother. If he was Sam, then there was a lot he had missed - or forgotten. He let his gaze travel over the figure in front of him. The younger man's face bore a mask of pain and determination and he was certain the pain wasn't from the kicks to the chest. When he had helped Sam to his feet, he had seen the younger hunter's pain, but he wasn't sure why. Trailing his gaze down the taller man's bare torso, he paused at the lacerations on Sam's chest and felt a brief surge of recognition. He knew about the cuts, but how?

Returning his gaze to the familiar face, Dean found himself praying that the being in front of him was really there. If his mind was creating an illusion of his baby brother - practically naked - he had bigger problems than he thought. Shaking his head, the elder Winchester focused his attention on the younger man.

Sam's face was pale and dusted with sweat and dirt. Seeing what looked like dried blood on the younger man's forehead, Dean stepped closer, pushing the dark bangs from his sibling's face. Cursing softly, the elder Winchester lightly traced the symbol etched in Sam's skin before lowering his questioning gaze to meet the younger man's eyes.

"You can free your essence?" Dean asked in a rough whisper, dropping his hand from his brother's face.

"What?" Sam questioned, shifting his feet so the brunt of his weight rested on the sides.

"You can release your soul from your body?" the elder man said a little louder.

"Dean," Sam muttered in exasperation. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"That symbol," Dean replied nodding his head towards Sam. "We use it on the souls gifted with the ability to escape. It's called astral projection topside. But in hell it's just a pain in the ass."

The younger hunter studied his brother's features, wondering what else Dean had learned while doing his tour in hell. "Okay, I get the astral projection thing - when a person can leave their body to go to other places and stuff, but why is that a problem in hell? I mean there's no body to leave, right?"

Sliding his arm around the younger man's waist, Dean tried to take most of the taller hunter's weight. "Can you walk at all?" he questioned.

"Yeah," Sam groaned, resting an arm across Dean's shoulders.

"What's wrong with your feet anyway?" the elder hunter inquired.

"She burnt 'em," Sam grated through clenched teeth as he took a step. "How's the shoulder?"

"She burnt them?" Dean's eyes widened. Removing his arm from his sibling, the elder Winchester nodded to the dirt floor. "Sit down; I wanna check your feet."

"What?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dean, no. We don't have time…"

"We'll make time," Dean snapped, cutting Sam off. "Now sit."

All too familiar with the firm tone and set of his brother's features, Sam knew there was no point in arguing. It would be quicker to let Dean examine his feet, then they could be on their way. Dropping back to the earthen surface, Sam gingerly removed the socks drawing a sharp breath as he peeled the cloth away from broken, seeping blisters.

Squatting, Dean raised the younger man's feet one at a time, examining the damage inflicted on tender flesh. "That bitch!" he exclaimed, his green eyes focused on the raw wounds. "I'm gonna kill her. No one messes with my brother."

The injuries his sibling sustained brought a deep rage to the elder man; the chest lacerations, the symbol engraved on Sam's forehead, and now the severely burnt feet - had Dean seeing red. No longer was he thinking of a way to escape - the only thought in his mind was to make the demon pay - with her life.

"You know, I'm all for taking that crazy bitch out," Sam responded, grimacing as his brother investigated his feet. "But I think we need to get out of here and figure out what exactly we're dealing with."

Straightening to a standing position, Dean gazed at the younger hunter. "I thought you said she was a demon? We just need Ruby's knife and - all over."

Sam grasped the older man's hand and pulled himself to his feet with a groan. "What do you remember? You know, from before you woke up here?"

Staring over his sibling's shoulder, Dean tried to pull the fleeting images to his mind. They were right there, but no matter how hard he tried to bring them to clarity, they slipped his mental grasp. Sighing, he shifted his gaze to the younger hunter. "I don't. Maybe if you start filling in the details, I'll remember."

"I think the most important thing we have to focus on here is she took out two angels. Two, Dean. Most demons run the other way when they're confronted by angels. Not her, she took them head on, and was prepared for it." Sam hesitated; he knew he should tell Dean the demon's name, but he wasn't sure yet which team his big brother was playing for in his current state. The last thing he needed was for the scales to be tipped in Beth's favour.

Dean scowled as a brief flash of familiarity hit him. _Two angels taken down by a single demon? _Suddenly, Dean was back in the crappy motel room, standing next to his bleeding sibling, thinking only of destroying the monster that had carved into the younger man. A large black man was on one of the beds, beads of sweat glistening on his face. _Uriel!_ Dean thought with certainty.

The words that echoed in his mind next, hit him like a splash of ice water, returning all the past events to him in a jumbled explosion.

_When you die, you'll go right back to hell._

The next memory to resurface in the elder hunter's confused brain was the glint of a dagger as it flipped through the air, expertly thrown by the demon. _Kim. She used to be Kimberly. A cop, from that town with the funny name. What was it? _As he saw the blade impale the dark-haired man in his mind's eye, he gasped. "Cas. She killed Cas."

Sam stared at his sibling in concern. The elder man's face had paled significantly, and he stared unfocussed at a point behind Sam. Dean's features went through a flurry of emotions, before settling in a horrified shock. To the younger man's dismay, Dean swayed slightly, taking several staggering steps backwards. Still gripping Sam's arm, he forced the injured hunter to stumble with him.

"Dean!" Sam called, trying to steady the older man without taking further pain to his feet. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean stared at his sibling, almost looking through him. "How could I forget all that? How could I forget she killed Cas and Uriel? How could I forget what she did - what she threatened to do to you?"

Blinking several times, the elder hunter focussed on his brother's face, as the events of the past days and months surfaced and settled. "I'm going back to hell," he mumbled. "When this is done, I go back to hell."

"No. You're not," Sam countered firmly. "We're gonna get the hell out of here, figure out how to take out this demon. But there is no way you're going back to hell."

Dean offered a sad smile, "If I'm going back, you can't stop it, Sam."

"Watch me," the younger hunter answered determinedly.

-0-

Bethany leaned against the rock wall just outside the cave, listening to the brothers. Realizing Dean had regained his memories and was no longer confused, she sighed in aggravation. It was just too good to be true; she had really thought that the blood would be on Dean's hands and not hers.

As much as Dean's unconditional protectiveness and loyalty Sam angered and frustrated her, she had developed a fondness for the younger man. She found the way he would put Dean's well being ahead of his own endearing, and he was polite if not kind when they had been walking the dark passages to get to Dean. Still, she had a job to do. The brothers had to go down.

"Beth? You're not considering shirking your duties are you?" a smooth voice came from the shadows.

Bethany stiffened and pulled away from the wall. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I had a feeling that my assistance may be required," the man said eloquently, drawing nearer the young demon.

"I've got everything under control, Alastair. Dean will be back at his post before sunrise," Bethany said defensively.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, young one," Alastair chuckled, running his fingers through the coppery hair of Bethany's host body. "You picked a very pretty puppet. Did you do that for Dean?"

"I picked it 'cause it was convenient - no other reason." Beth replied, tightly clutching the tools she had gathered. "I don't need your help, Alastair."

"What I think is that your feelings for our little fugitive may be affecting your judgement," the elder demon said mockingly.

Anger surged through the young demon. She had come this far without the Grand Executioner's help; she wasn't about to hand him the glory. Closing her eyes, Bethany tamped down her rage before responding to Alastair's insinuations. "There are no feelings, Alastair. Not anymore; he made his choice."

Chuckling, Alastair turned from his young protégé, walking towards the cave entrance. "We will see about that." The head executioner paused, looking over his shoulder at the woman. "You can come help me finish this or you can go back downstairs. Your choice, young one."

Biting back a snide comment, Bethany muttered to herself, keeping her voice inaudible to the elder demon. Oh yeah, no problem. She'll just take leave and go back to hell without a fight. She followed Alastair into the cell that housed the Winchesters_. I can't, _she thought with a feeling of elated apprehension. _I can't leave this body - I can't go back to hell. _

_-0-_

"Let's get out of here before she gets back," Dean said, gripping the younger hunter securely. "Dude, how the hell did you get so heavy? You never eat." He turned his head, smirking at the younger man before adding, "And where the hell are your clothes? Did I interrupt something?"

"Just go," Sam huffed, trying to mentally override the pain that flared with each step.

"Oh, you can't go yet, boys," Alastair said gleefully as he entered the room. "I just got here."

Dean froze, turning his head in the direction of the voice. Swallowing hard, he fought to maintain control of the fear that ran rampant through him. "Alastair."

On reflex, Sam tensed, stepping slightly in front of his older brother. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Alastair smiled menacingly. "I'm just here to get reacquainted with Dean."

Hearing the soft footsteps of his associate, the ultimate torturer turned expectantly. "You. Give me the weapons you have collected and get our little runaway back on his leash." He nodded his head in the direction of the shackles. "Then you can deal with our little psychic."

Nodding mutely, Bethany handed her supplies to the overseer and raising her hand, she forced Dean to the wall and away from his brother. With the older hunter under her control, she made quick work getting him back into the shackles. Once he was secured, Bethany turned to Alastair, waiting further orders.

"Leave him alone!" Sam shouted, his concern for his sibling overriding the agony as he moved. "Take me. I'm the one Lillith wants."

"Deal with him, young one," Alastair commanded as he crossed the room to where Dean stood fighting his restraints.

Moving swiftly, Bethany blocked Sam's path, preventing him from getting to his brother. She pressed the palm of her hand on his chest, smiling coldly. "Your feet must hurt like crazy. I think you should get off them." With a psychic push, she forced Sam to his knees.

"I see you got yourself a new lap dog, Alastair. Very obedient too." Dean intoned.

Hearing the elder hunter's words, Bethany spun on her heels and had her face inches from his before he could blink. "You don't get to judge me," she hissed angrily. "You weren't there. You don't know what the past fifty years was like. What I went through!"

The young demon raised her hand, stopping Dean before he had a chance to speak. "Yeah - yeah. You had it rough when you were in hell. Well, boohoo! Cause you had nothing! When you were under Alastair's knife, he was doing his job. Try being there when he is royally pissed, then and only then do you have the right to judge." Bethany gripped either side of his face in her hand, and squeezed his cheeks, causing Dean's lips to pucker. "So I think you should shut the f**k up, you stupid God-lovin', angel hugger."

Slamming Dean's head against the brick wall, Bethany released her hold and turned away. "I'm done suffering for you, Winchester."

Dean stared wide-eyed, for several seconds before he was able to speak. "Wha…what did you call me?"

"You heard me," the young demon responded, not looking back.

_Angel hugger. _Clearing his throat, Dean studied the woman as she walked toward his brother, watching her stance when she stopped in front of Sam. _Stupid angel huggers. _"Beth?" Dean asked, hoping he was wrong.

Closing the distance between himself and his prey, Alastair laughed mirthlessly. "I was wondering when you would figure it out. I mean, as close as you two were I didn't think the body would make any difference. A soul is unique, regardless of the packaging - you should've recognized her. Perhaps you weren't as close as she believed."

Ignoring the approaching master of pain, Dean focussed on the being he once knew. "Beth, what happened to you? Why are you doing this?"

Bethany heard Dean's words and squared her shoulders. She wasn't going to let him get to her; he could save his smooth talk for some other hapless soul. Instead, she smiled coldly at the kneeling younger hunter, running her options through her mind. They could have a battle of powers, he couldn't evict her from the meat suit, and she was sure she was stronger. But where was the fun in that?

As she regarded the Sam, an idea began to take shape. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the empty vial. Sam had demon blood mixed with his human blood, what would the qeres do to the mix-breed? Holding the vial up, the young demon could see the remaining residue glistening on the side of the glass container. She wrapped her hand in her sleeve, placed the tiny bottle between her fabric-coated fingers and slammed it against the rocks. The shatter of the glass brought a smile to her lips. Just what would happen if the boy with the demon blood was cut with one of the qeres laced shards? It was something she was interested in finding out.

Reaching out, the young demon pushed the younger Winchester, causing him to lose his balance and topple to his side on the dirt floor. "You'll be more comfortable if you lay down," Bethany sneered.

Sam sat up, glaring at the girl defiantly before looking past her at his brother and the psychotic demon that held a knife threateningly to Dean's throat.

"Leave him alone, you bastard," the younger hunter roared. "I'm worth more to Lillith. Take me and let Dean go."

Bracing her foot on the younger man's shoulder, Bethany shoved him to the floor. She lowered her gaze to the glass shards in her sleeve-covered hand. There had to be a way she could get the qeres into his bloodstream without actually touching it herself.

"It's so easy to offer yourself when you don't know what you are offering yourself for," she chided. "If you knew even half of what it's like down there, you wouldn't be so quick to martyr yourself." Seeing her small stockpile of weapons on the floor near Alastair's feet, Bethany swiftly crossed the room and selected one of the sharp implements. It was barely more than a scalpel, but it would serve for what she needed. A small, scrape or incision was all she would need to introduce the poison to the younger Winchester's system. She returned to her victim, weapon in hand.

Dropping to her knees, she pressed the tool into Sam's bare torso, creating a third line from chest to waistline. Bethany looked into the eyes of her victim, her black orbs glinting in the light of the lantern. "After this, you won't be so quick to offer to take Dean's place."

Returning her gaze to the line of blood, she turned her sleeve-covered hand, pressing the qeres coated shards into the wound.

Sam stared at the demon blankly, feeling nothing and wondering what she thought the qeres would do to him - he was human after all. Taking a breath, the young hunter prepared to try to make a deal for his brother, unable let Dean suffer at Alastair's hands. He wouldn't allow his big brother to go back to hell. As he opened his mouth to speak, a blinding pain surged through him as the qeres entered his body, attacking the unnatural blood mixed with his own.

The qeres travelled rapidly through his veins, burning through the supernatural essence that laid within. As the agony intensified, the younger Winchester could no longer think, the pain was the only thing that existed now. A scream ripped from his throat as he bucked, raising his back from the earthen surface.

"God!" Sam wailed, tears slipping from closed lids. "Make it stop…Please!"

Sam could hear a voice calling his name but it sounded faint - far away. The only thing that felt real was the agony, as the demon cells were assaulted and consumed by the ancient liquid. Drawing a shaky breath, the younger hunter forced his eyes opened and raised his head looking for his grounding force. Searching for Dean.

Hearing the scream of agony, Dean pulled against the restraints, cursing the demons and hell itself. Unable to get free, the big brother roared. "SAAAM! Sammy…"

"Sorry Dean, Sam is a little busy at the moment. Would you care to leave a message?" Alastair smirked at the man that was once his prized pupil. This was delicious. Nothing he could physically do to the man could possibly bring about the look of tortured anguish now on the elder Winchester's face as he watched his sibling writhe in pain.

"Stop! Leave him alone. It's me you want," Dean panted his gaze never leaving his suffering brother. "I'll go…I'll go back with you. Just leave him alone."

"Aww, you boys just warm the cockles of my heart." The head executioner chuckled. "Always ready to sacrifice yourselves for each other."

The younger hunter's searching gaze fell on his sibling's face as Dean uttered the offer. Fighting against the pain, Sam tried to focus on his brother. He had to gain control; he couldn't let Dean do this again. There was no way he would let the elder man go back to hell - not for him. "Dean, no."

Dropping his head back to the floor in exhaustion, Sam closed his eyes. It was his turn to save his brother - his world. This time he wouldn't fail. "Beth, take me. Let Dean go, please."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," the young demon clucked. "This, what you're feeling now, is nothing compared to what you'd feel in hell. Are you sure your brother is worth it."

Sam's eyes snapped open and he glared at the woman as she loomed over him. "He is worth my life and more. What would you know about love, loyalty and family? You're just a heartless demon." he grated coldly. "Dean gave up everything for me. And I would do the same for him. I can't expect a bitch like you to understand…"

Looking into the younger hunter's eyes, Bethany knew he was speaking the truth. Sam was willing to die and suffer unknown tortures to save his brother. The man who had cared for him all his life. With a gasp, the demon girl sat back on her heels, remembering another time….

-00-

_**October 5th**__** 1990**_

_The steady beep of the machine was the only sound in the room. She could barely hear the small breaths coming from the young man in the bed. He was so frail, so small, his sandy hair had thinned over the course of treatment, and his face was pale and waxen. Jacob looked nothing like the robust sixteen year old who had been admitted what seemed like a lifetime ago. _

_Slowly the young man opened his eyes, glancing fearfully around the room until his gaze fell on the figure curled up in the chair, staring at him. _

"_Hey," the adolescent rasped with a thin smile. Seeing the tears on the girl's face, he braced himself up on one elbow. "What's wrong?"_

"_I - I don't match," she cried, hiccupping on the words. "And Mama's mad at me."_

_Jacob's eyes flashed angrily and he patted the bed beside him. "C'mere, squirt." _

_Rising to her feet, the little girl crawled onto the bed next to her big brother. "I'm sorry, Jay." she sobbed. "I really wanted to save you. I wanted to make you better, and I wanted Mama to love me."_

_The boy shifted in the bed, making room for his little sister to lay beside him. "Not your fault," he murmured, gently wiping the tears from her cheek. "Are you still praying?"_

_The girl's blonde curls bobbed as she nodded her head. "Every night, like you taught me. But it's not working, Jay. You're still sick."_

"_Sometimes God has other plans, Angel." he soothed. "Sometimes He calls His children early. But it's not your fault, okay? You can remember that, right?"_

"_But Mama really wanted me to be able to make you better. She was nice to me, Jay. She took me for dinner after the tests and shopping." The child lowered her head to her brother's chest. "But then the results came back, and she hates me again."_

"_Aww, she doesn't hate you squirt," Jay comforted, rubbing her forearm. "She's just upset."_

"_That's bullshit, Jacob Crossman, and you know it," she shot back angrily. "She always hated me, even before you got sick."_

_Jacob sighed, "You still wanna make me feel better?" he asked, changing the subject. When his sister nodded, he put an arm around her. "Sing to me."_

_Snuggling into her sibling, the nine-year-old girl cleared her throat and began to sing softly. Jacob smiled, closing his eyes. For a child so young she had a beautiful voice, and he had dreamed of the day that he would see her off to Juilliard or a similar college. Now, it was unlikely he'd live to see her Christmas concert. Sighing, he listened to her sweet voice as it lulled him to a peaceful sleep._

"_What are you doing?" Kathleen Crossman whispered harshly as she entered the room to find her daughter singing as she lay beside her ill son. "I told you not to disturb him. Can't you do anything right?"_

_The young girl fell silent, tensing at her mother's angry hiss. _

"_I asked her to come up here and sing to me, Mother," Jacob snapped, forcing his eyes open to confront the angry woman. "Her singing helps me sleep."_

_Kathleen's face softened as she looked at her son, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Well, the doctors said you need your rest and not to disturb you."_

_The adolescent turned his head to his sister. "Hey squirt, I could really go for a soda. You wanna go get one for me?"_

_Climbing down from the hospital bed, the blonde-haired girl looked to her mother for permission. Kathleen dug into her purse for some change. Handing it to her youngest, she nodded curtly and returned her attention to her son._

_Shuffling to the door, the young girl paused to look back at her family, the only family she had, and one of them would be leaving her soon. With a steadying breath, she squared her shoulders and walked out the door, closing it softly behind her._

_Jacob waited several seconds after the door closed, giving his sister time to be out of earshot before turning on his mother. "This has to stop."_

"_I don't know what you're talking about, Jacob." his mother replied, sitting in the chair next to the bed. _

"_You know what I'm talking about," the sixteen-year-old shot back. "The way you treat her. She thinks you hate her."_

_Releasing an aggravated sigh, Kathleen looked at her son. "I don't hate her."_

"_Well, you don't act like you love her neither," the boy responded._

"_She doesn't make it easy to love her. All the time getting into trouble. Disobeying rules. It's hard for me, Jacob. You must see that. She is an unruly child."_

"_You're her mother," Jacob glared. "Loving her shouldn't be a chore. It should just be…"_

"_You're not a parent. How could you even think you know what it's like?" Kathleen cut him off. "You know as well as I do, if it hadn't been for her your father would still be alive. How can I look at her and not think that?"_

"_She wasn't even born when Dad…died. You can't blame her."_

"_It was the news that I was pregnant again that killed him." Kathleen spat. "If she had never been conceived we would be a family."_

"_We are a family," Jacob hissed. "Stop blaming her. Dad had issues…anyone who would kill themselves and leave their family, has major issues. He was selfish."_

_Jumping to her feet, Kathleen glared at her son. "Don't you ever talk about your father that way again! He was a good man; he couldn't handle the pressures of another child. We only wanted one…a son. And we had you; it was supposed to end there."_

"_You're just as selfish as he was," Jacob said calmly, but the increased beep of the machine monitoring his heart rate belied his feigned composure. Swallowing, the young man looked at the woman who had raised him lovingly, while ignoring the emotional needs of his sister. _

"_You know what scares me the most about dying?" he asked._

"_You're not going to die," his mother cut in. "We'll find a marrow match. The hospital staff is searching for one as we speak."_

_The young man snorted. "I'm dying, mother. I have accepted it, you should too." Shifting his gaze from the woman's stricken face, he cleared his throat before continuing. "The thing that terrifies me about dying is leaving Bethany alone with you."_

_Kathleen stepped back in shock at her son's words. "I'd never lay a hand on her."_

"_No you wouldn't," Jacob agreed, disgustedly. "You'd have to acknowledge her to do that."_

_The little girl stood outside the door, listening to the intense argument. Again, her brother was rushing to her defence, trying to make her mother love her. Bethany had known most of her life that her mother hated her, but until now, she never knew why. Her father hated her too, and he had never even laid eyes on her. He'd rather die, than have her for a daughter. _

_Ignoring the tears that dampened her cheeks, the little girl turned away from the room where her brother lay. He was the only one that loved her and he was dying. She had to find a way to save him, she couldn't face the world alone - she needed Jay. _

_Bethany looked down the hall, the vending machine was by the nurses' station to her right. Turning left, the little girl walked down the hall; she had a stop to make first, then she'd get her brother's soda._

_When she reached the end of the hall, the little girl pushed through the door, entering the softly lit chapel. Glancing around quickly, she confirmed she was alone and strode to the front of the room. Kneeling, she clasped her hands and bowed her head as Jacob had taught her, he had told her it was a position showing respect to God - which one should always have, respect for the Creator._

"_God?" she began softly. "I hope you aren't tired of hearing from me, it's just…Well, I've done everything I promised. I haven't talked back to Mama, I didn't go into the special grownups den and I didn't get into a fight at all at school. Even when Carla pushed me into the puddle and called me bad names. I also studied, and even the teacher said she was proud of my improvements. So…maybe you could see fit to help my brother? I need him. I know he is special and you'd like him to come live with you in heaven…But I need him - more than you do. So…Please God. I promise I'll be good from now on. Just let Jacob stay with me." _

_Sobbing uncontrollably, Bethany continued. "God, I know I'm not a good person. My father died because of me. I guess he knew I would be a horrible person, and couldn't stand the thoughts of being my Daddy. If you really need to bring someone to heaven, you can take me instead. I know I'm not as good as Jay…But I will try to be. He has taught me so much about You. Please…Just let my brother live."_

_Bethany felt a presence in the room and wiping away her tears, she raised her head. A man was standing beside her. With a gentle smile, he lowered himself to his knees and looked into her tear-streaked face. "God doesn't make deals, child. But maybe I can help you."_

_The little girl looked at the strange man, feeling the hairs on her arms stand on end. "Who are you?" she questioned._

"_Let's just say I'm someone who is a little more sympathetic to your plight than God is," he answered in smooth tones. "I can make your brother well again, Bethany."_

"_How?" the little girl asked, gazing into his clear blue eyes. "Are you an angel?" _

_The man chuckled. "No. But my father was. And he gave me the gift to help people. Especially innocents in so much pain - like you, child."_

"_You'll make Jay better?" Bethany asked, her eyes lighting up._

"_Yes, but it isn't that simple. There are rules, Bethany, and I have to follow them. To save your brother's life, I need something in exchange."_

_The little girl's face fell. "I don't have any money…"_

"_I'm not interested in money. It has to be an equal exchange," he gently laid a hand on her head. "No amount of money in the world is equal to a soul, a life."_

"_Y-you want me to give you my life?" the child asked. "Then Jay would live? Can you really do that?"_

"_Yes. Would you do that, child? Would you die for your brother?"_

_Bethany thought of her brother. He was always there for her, being the buffer when her mother was angry with her. Jay was the one that sat with her when she woke from nightmares; he cleaned her cuts and kissed her bruises. He never ignored her and always included her in his plans. Most of all, he loved her - when no one else did. _

_Nodding, she gazed at the man who was the son of an angel. "I would do anything for Jacob. What do I have to do?"_

"_Nothing, child." the man answered, his eyes glowing red for a brief second. "If we make this deal, there is no turning back."_

"_I want my brother to live. Everyone loves Jay, they'd be sad without him." Lowering her gaze, she added. "No one would miss me, except Jay."_

_Getting to his feet, the man held his hand out to the girl and helped her to stand. "We have to seal the deal, once sealed it can not be broken by either of us. Are you ready?"_

_Bethany's eyes grew wide and her heart hammered in her chest. "W-will it hurt?"_

_Smiling patiently, the man answered. "I like you Bethany. I will try to make it as painless as possible, when the time comes. As long as you come willingly." he winked at her. "You won't have to worry for a while; I won't collect on my end for ten years. You have ten years to be with your brother…"_

_Bethany's face broke into a smile. "Really? You'd do that for me?"_

_Chuckling under his breath, the demon replied. "Yes. For you, I will do that. Is it a deal?"_

"_Yes!" she exclaimed. _

_The demon took her hand, and cut a groove along her palm with a sharp fingernail. Lowering his head, he lapped up the blood, enjoying the sweet taste of the girl's innocence. _

"_The deal has been sealed," he said wiping the blood from his lips. "I'll see you in ten years." The man disappeared._

_Bethany rubbed her eyes and glanced around the room, uncertain if the man had really been there at all. Glancing at her bleeding palm, she had her answer. He had been there - her brother would live._

_A/N Thanks so much to all of you that have stuck through this with me. My hands are healing well, so unless anything else pops up in RL I should be able to maintain a regular posting. Thanks again to those who are reading, and thank you so much to those who have commented._

_Hugs all,_

_Trace  
_


	20. Chapter 20

**Echoes of Hell**

**Chapter 20**

With his back pressed against the cold stones, Dean watched the younger man as he bucked and squirmed on the dirt surface. Tears welled in the elder hunter's eyes as he realized his uselessness in the situation. He was securely fastened to the rock wall with Alastair grinning in front of him.

Seeing how his brother's agony brought unabashed joy to the demon, Dean growled menacingly, "You sorry assed son of a bitch. When I get through with you, you'll be smiling from the other side of your head." Fuelled by anger, the older Winchester tried to lunge at the evil being, stopping short as the chains drew tight.

Alastair stepped back, his smile broadening as the hunter was snapped back by the restraints. "Dean, you can't do anything to me. You're not strong enough," the demon chuckled. "Tell me, do you ever feel like a part of you is missing?"

Dean stared at the dark entity, hoping the intensity of his hate, and the promise of what he'd do to the elder demon was conveyed through his silent glare. "You're going down, Alastair," the hunter muttered coldly. "I promise you'll never breathe air again."

"Oh, I think it is you who won't be breathing, Dean." Waving the knife tauntingly, Alastair drew closer to his victim.

-0-

Pulling herself from her reverie, Bethany looked into the younger hunter's eyes. Behind the pain that glazed his hazel orbs, she could see the love and need for his older sibling - the desire to give back to the one who had given him so much.

Sam squeezed his eyes closed as another bout of burning agony overtook him. No longer having the windows to his soul to peer into, Bethany trailed her gaze over the young man's face. She could see a thin line of blood seeping from his nose, and felt a wave of panic. What had she done? How had she become the thing she worked so hard not to be?

Casting a quick glance at the superior being, she saw that he was preoccupied with the elder hunter, taunting before he set to carve the flesh from Dean's bones. In a hurried rush the young demon brushed the glass from the younger man's chest, careful not the let the shards pierce her skin. She bit back a hiss of pain as the poison made contact with her skin.

When his body settled from the latest attack of the qeres, Sam relaxed his tense muscles, his chest heaving as he drew in air. Opening his eyes, he saw the girl's face looming over him and for the briefest second, he thought he saw her eyes flash a pale brown, the colour of a light ale.

"You know Sam, it was always you. Out of all of Azazel's children, it had to be you." Bethany murmured softly. "Do you know why?"

Looking at the demon quizzically, Sam shook his head.

Gently wiping the blood from the younger Winchester's upper lip, she continued, "You have a strength, Samuel Winchester, an ability to use the powers given to you, to control them…The others? Not so much. The powers controlled them. They burned out, or at least they would have."

Leaning forward, Bethany whispered into the younger hunter's ear. "There's nothing I can do about the qeres that is already in your system. And I'm sorry about that, I really am, but you still have the ability to help yourself and your brother, if you choose to be strong enough." She sat back, giving the young psychic time to process what she had said.

Sam gazed at her in confusion. Why would she try to help him now? They had him and Dean where they wanted them. Sam grew suspicious, his hazel orbs becoming hard and cold. "Just what are you up to?" he demanded.

"I'm trying to help you and your brother, Sam." Bethany answered in hushed tones. "Not all your powers are from the demon blood. Astral projection, for instance. That's not an ability Azazel would've given you. It makes you harder to keep in line. Add that to your ability to teleport items through the metaphysical realm to your physical body…That makes you very dangerous to us."

"Bethany?" Alastair called over his shoulder. He could hear their quiet tones, but was unable to make out what was being said. He had put the girl through forty-eight years of the worst tortures imaginable to sway her to his side, but he couldn't guarantee she wouldn't turn back into a bleeding heart where the Winchesters were concerned. "What's going on over there?"

Plastering a malicious smile on her face, the young demon turned to her commander. "Oh, we were just discussing our options, Alastair. I want to show him his brother's favourite technique, and he feels that I should let him go. Isn't that a riot?" She laughed coldly before adding, "I don't have enough tools, would you care to share?"

Studying his student's face, Alastair relaxed, smiling at the girl. The cold hate and desire for revenge still burned brightly in her dark expression. "Of course, young one. Take what you need." He motioned to the small collection at his feet.

Standing, Bethany looked down at Sam. "Don't go anywhere," she said tauntingly. Her eyes met his, issuing a silent plea for him to play along and not try to get away.

It wasn't until her pleading look that Sam realized she was no longer holding him with her demon powers. If he chose to get up, the only thing stopping him was the qeres and his burnt feet. Watching her in uncertainty, the younger Winchester snapped, "Funny. Real funny."

As she walked away, Sam could feel the elder demon's gaze on him. Not knowing why he felt the need to protect Bethany and her ploy, the younger hunter began to struggle, feigning an inability to free himself. A sudden bolt of pain had the young man arching off the floor, a string of curses erupting from his lips.

"SAM!" Dean roared. Watching his baby brother screaming in agony tore into his heart. With an angered curse, he pulled on the chains that were keeping him away from Sam. His gaze fell on the copper-haired body Bethany was now occupying.

"Beth?" the elder hunter searched her face, looking for the girl he had known so well, realizing he didn't know her at all anymore. His Beth would never have caused pain to a human. Souls were fair game, but to her, harming a human was taboo.

As she knelt down to select a few items, Bethany cocked her head to the side, looking at Dean as he called to her. Seeing the flurry of emotions in the elder hunter's eyes, she fought to keep her cool mask in place. She couldn't let Alastair get suspicious.

"What?" she snapped coolly. The look of disgust on Dean's face as he looked at her broke her heart. Drawing a breath, she continued her act. "What's wrong, Dean? Doncha love me anymore?"

"I don't even know who you are," he hissed. "Apparently, I never did."

Forcing a smile to her lips, she stood and approached the chained hunter. "It's I that never knew you, Dean Winchester." The rage she felt at that moment wasn't an act for Alastair's benefit. As she gazed into Dean's green eyes, a very real anger came to the surface. "I waited for you. For well over forty years, I laid on Alastair's table, holding on to you - no - believing in you. Believing you would come for me - save me."

Drawing nearer the elder Winchester, Bethany reached out, gripping his face between her fingers, allowing her nails to bite into the soft skin. "You had connections, Dean. You had an angel; you could've come for me. Hell, if your angel wasn't willing, you could've summoned me. You knew my true name - it wouldn't have been hard. But you didn't, did you? You chose to forget about me. You chose to leave me under Alastair's knife."

The young demon released her hold, and relaxed her arm at her side. "Did you know I was held responsible? I was blamed for your escape, and punished severely? Forty-eight years, Dean. With no rest, no time to regroup. Our Grand Executioner can go a very long time without resting. Did you know that? He never put me under another's hand, for fear I may get sympathy or rest."

Turning back to the stockpile of weapons, Bethany selected the tool she deemed would serve her purpose and with a glance at the elder hunter, she returned to Sam.

Dean stared at the possessed woman, his mind spinning at her revelations. He could only imagine what the girl had gone through. Forty-eight years. Hell, he had only lasted thirty before he took his turn inflicting pain. What she was doing now was directly related to him. Her way of seeking revenge for his betrayal.

"Beth, I couldn't. I'm sorry, I couldn't bring you out," Dean rasped. "For all intents and purposes, you are still a demon."

Bethany tossed an angry glare over her shoulder. "Oh, well that makes everything all better," she said sarcastically. "You suddenly realized I was a demon. Should I forgive you now?"

"That's not what I'm saying. This? It has nothing to do with Sam. Please, let him go," Dean said weakly. "It was me who hurt you, not Sam."

"Go to hell, Dean," the girl snapped, ending the conversation.

Alastair chuckled as he watched the scene play out. Bethany was on his side. Now he could relax and focus his attention on the job at hand.

Dean Winchester was going back to hell. Today.

Kneeling in front of Sam, Bethany smiled sadly. "This is gonna hurt. But there is no way around it; Alastair is watching me too closely." She trailed the point of the blade along Sam's arm, not applying enough pressure to break the skin. "You're going to have to concentrate on everything I say through any and all pain you will feel. Do you understand?"

With his gaze focused on the knife, Sam nodded. It was plain that she was going to continue torturing him and the young hunter began to wonder if her helpful act was a part of her technique. To give him hope just to yank it away again.

"Where were we?" the young demon asked softly. "Oh right. Your powers." She pressed the blade into his skin, watching as a drop of blood welled to the surface.

Clenching his teeth, the younger Winchester hissed softly, "How am I dangerous to you?"

Bethany moved the weapon from his arm, hardly leaving a mark where she had pierced the flesh. Placing a hand on his head, she pushed back the sweat soaked bangs. "If someone was to mar the unity of that symbol, then someone with your abilities could leave their body and return with say…the knife you took from Ruby. That would be very bad for me."

As she spoke, the demon place the steel blade on Sam's forehead, and with quick motions she cut across the symbol, unlocking the psychic's powers. "It isn't much, what with Alastair being all but immune to the blasted thing, but maybe it'll be the leg up you need."

Sam felt the trickle of blood as it trailed from his forehead down the side of his face. Once again, confused and uncertain, he studied the woman's features. "Why are you helping me?"

Closing her eyes, Bethany could see Jacob's face. The way he had looked the last time she had seen him, his blonde hair glowing as the sun's rays shone down on him. "I lost my way. Sometimes the path is blurred, for all of us, Sam."

"What do I do?" the young hunter asked. He had taken instruction from Ruby for so long now; seeking help from another demon just seemed par for the course.

"Think of where you need to be…Picture yourself there. It will require a lot of concentration on your part. But focus. Do it for Dean." As Sam closed his eyes, Bethany touched his arm. "One more thing. If you do this and it works and after you take care of Alastair you have to promise you'll kill me. Not send me to hell, but kill me."

Sam's eyes flew open and he looked at the demon in astonishment. "What?"

"I lost my path once, Sam. And I will lose it again until eventually I become one of them. It's in our nature. No matter what you believe, there is no such thing as a good demon. You'd do well to remember that. Now, focus."

Nodding stiffly, Sam closed his eyes, trying to push away the thoughts running through his head. He didn't have time to worry about her request, or even try to figure out why she had asked. Pulling up an image of the Impala in his mind, he concentrated on the interior. How the leather seats felt, the smell of stale food, coffee and the hunters' sweat. The familiar scents of the classic Chevy, odours that seemed to have been ingrained in the carpeting and upholstery.

The room around him seemed to be growing faint, surreal. The demon's voice came to him as if through a fog. "One more thing, Sam," she was saying. "I still have to keep Alastair from being suspicious. When you renter your body, it's gonna hurt like a bitch."


	21. Chapter 21

**_A/N So sorry for takling so long to update. RL Has been hell lately and my beta took ill. Hopefully I'm back inthe game now and the updates will be regular again. Thanks to all of you reading. *hugs*_**

**Echoes Of Hell**

**Chapter 21**

Alastair leaned in closer to the elder hunter. Dean could feel the heat of the demon's rancid breath on his skin, and he fought the urge to pull back. He wasn't going to show any weakness to the Executioner, if he were going down, it would be with his dignity in tact.

"Looks like our sweet little Bethany has everything under control where your brother is concerned," the commanding demon purred into Dean's ear. "Tell me Dean, where do you think your brother is going to go when he dies? After all, he has been using his demon abilities - embracing his darker side."

Dean shifted his eyes to Alastair's face in alarm. Sam couldn't go to hell - he wouldn't allow it. "You have me Alastair. Let my brother go."

The oppressor stepped back from the elder Winchester, his white eyes gleaming malevolently. "Oh I don't think so. Having little Sammy downstairs will be a very sweet treat. There are many down there that would love to have a crack at your baby brother. Don't worry; I'll make sure you have front row seats."

Dean's gaze moved to Sam and the woman that kneeled over him, carving into the younger man's naked flesh. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you both!"

Alastair chuckled as he picked up a straight razor from the dwindling pile of tools. "Its time to dance, Dean."

With the razor in one hand and a knife in the other, Alastair advanced on the helpless hunter. Unrepressed joy shone in the dark entity's eyes and he pressed the razor against Dean's shirt, shredding it from the man's body, and leaving a blood trail in its wake.

"Tell me, Dean," the demon rasped. "Do you miss hell? Do you miss how powerful you felt? The joy you felt with each strangled cry?"

Dean pulled from the cold steel, his heart beating in his chest. He had to think of something, anything but what the Master of Pain was about to do to him.

**-0-**

_He felt arms wrap around him from behind and grinned as they slowly slid up his stomach to his chest. Reaching back, he laid a hand on her hip, his lips moving into a full smile as she snuggled in closer to him. Dean set the knife on the tray and turned within her embrace. Lowering his head, he caught her full lips with his own. _

_With a sigh, he broke off the kiss and looked into her amber eyes. "How'd the meeting go?"_

_Bethany curled her pert nose in distaste. "The usual, I can have my position back at the gates if I want it. Neberios thinks my attitude has improved."_

"_So are you taking it?" he asked, feigning indifference. _

"_Nope, not as interesting as I once thought it was. There is something better here," she replied with a suggestive smile._

_The young executioner drew back, "You're not refusing because of me are you?"_

_Bethany laughed softly. "Of course I am."_

"_Good," Dean smirked. "Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."_

_Bethany moved to the table and looked down at the bloody mass. There were no recognizable features, yet she could still hear the soul's whimpers of pain. "So, what's on for today?"_

_Dean returned to the rack and his victim. "Just trying a new technique. The same Ol' same Ol' is getting pretty boring. I think they get used to it and don't feel it as much after awhile."_

"_Have you used the thing you were working on last night?" she asked curiously._

"_Actually, I was waiting for you. Seeing as you helped me with it I thought you might enjoy seeing it used for the first time."_

_Bethany eyed him, "Pretty confident I'd refuse the transfer, were you? What would you have done if I had taken it?"_

_Dean looked at her, his green eyes glittering coldly. "You woulda been the one I tried it on."_

_Looking at the former hunter, there was no doubt in Bethany's mind that he would've done just that. Over time, Dean had embraced his job with enthusiasm, quickly flying up the ranks. Most of the souls that had the misfortune of being strapped to Dean's table had quickly come to learn the once tortured man held no sympathy or compassion for his victims. _

"_Well, good thing I refused then," Bethany said with a forced laugh. _

"_Yes, it is," Dean replied distractedly, studying the mass of flesh on the rack in front of him. With a shrug, he pushed the moaning soul to the floor and moved to the apparatus next to his station._

_Bethany eyed Dean's latest contraption, little more than a large wheel supported on an A-frame, allowing full rotation. She watched in awe as the young torturer stoked the small fire beneath, and knew his intentions. _

"_In the mood for a barbecue?" Dean asked smirking. "Thought the fire was a nice touch."_

"_I thought you were going with spikes?" the girl asked, moving to stand beside him._

"_Oh, they're there too," the former demon hunter replied, his green eyes sparkling. _

_Bethany looked up from the wheel as a new soul was brought to Dean's station. The woman was pale and visibly shaken, her dark orbs already filling with tears. Bethany could almost feel the excitement resonating off the man as he quickly went to the new victim's side._

_Dean looked at the woman sympathetically and put an arm gently around her shoulder. "Is it your first time, sweetheart?" The woman only nodded tears spilling down her face._

_The man known to the souls of hell as The Flesher, turned to wink at Bethany, looking like a little boy on Christmas morning. He would be this soul's first. His would be the one that all other tortures would be compared to. _

_Lowering his gaze to the face of his victim, he exuded sympathy as he took her hand in his. "Don't cry, things will be fine. What you're thinking is probably much, much worse than what it really is." Dean guided the soul to the wheel, moving to the section that wasn't being heated from the flames._

_Gently, he pushed her hair from her face, and smiled benevolently. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll take real good care of you."_

_The woman relaxed, smiling back through her tears. "Thank you," she whispered._

_Dean nodded, "Could you put your arms against the wheel here? Uh…no. above your head if you would," he smiled as the woman willingly complied._

_Going to the tray, Dean selected the tools he needed and returned to the woman, the tools in one hand behind his back. He lightly wiped the tears from the woman's face, and gently caressed her pale cheek with his thumb. "Don't worry, darling. It'll be over before you know it," he whispered._

_Dean slowly slid his hand along the woman's arm, stopping at her wrist. "Shh…easy." he whispered as he felt her tense. _

_Trying to force a smile to her terrified features, the soul concentrated on relaxing, looking at Dean with a curious trust. "What happens to me now?"_

"_You just let me worry about that, sweetheart," he murmured softly. The young executioner gently moved her arms so the hands overlapped, palms facing out towards him. "I'm gonna take real good care of you."_

_Using his left forearm to hold the woman's limbs steady, he brought around his right, revealing the large spike and maul. His excitement rose when the petrified realization lit the soul's eyes. He could almost smell her fear mixed with the sweat emanating from her glands. _

_He passed the spike to his left hand never letting up on the pressure of his forearm, keeping the woman steady. Feeling her begin to struggle, he pressed his body against hers, stilling her movement. With a quick fluid motion, he raised the maul and struck the head of the spike, driving the cold steel into the woman's hands, pinning her to the wheel._

_Screaming, the woman bucked against him, trying to throw him off. _

_Dean stepped back, feeling an unbridle rapture. It had been too long since his work had given him this much pleasure. The agonized screams only fuelling his eagerness. _

_The former hunter of demons stood staring at his victim, his hands shaking with anticipation. He moved forward when the woman's screams died to a soft whimper, his green eyes full of malice. "What did you think would happen when your deal came due?" he asked acridly. "You must've known what you were in for."_

_Dean put his hand on the wheel, slowly turning it so the girl's feet rose from the floor, her spiked hands the only things supporting her weight._

"_Please - no," the soul whimpered trying to find purchase with her feet to relieve the excruciating pain radiating through her upper extremities._

_Dean sneered at the woman. "It's time to pay the piper; I only hope you don't find the price too high." _

_Picking up a set of shackles, The Flesher drew closer to the woman and grasped her flailing legs. He quickly attached the metal bands and fastened the chain to the hook on the wheel. Turning to Bethany, he held out his hand beckoning her to him._

_Bethany swiftly moved to his side waiting for the demonstration she knew he wanted to put on. "Is there anything you want me to do?"_

"_Bethany, come on down!" Dean called, smiling playfully. "You're the next contestant on the Price Is Right. This is the special, so you don't have to go through all the stupid little games, you can go straight to spinning the wheel." He gave an exaggerated bow and waited for his young partner to step up to the wheel._

_Placing her hands on the spokes, Bethany could feel the slick blood that had already coated them. She looked at Dean and when he nodded, she gave the wheel a hard spin._

_As the apparatus rotated over the fire and heated spike the soul screamed in agony. The metal points tearing into her flesh, and the fire licked hungrily over her body. When the wheel finally came to a stop, the soul was once again facing her torturers, screeching, her hair a burning mass of flames._

_-00-_

Castiel gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white in his death-grip as he manoeuvred the black classic through the steady flow of traffic. It had been over an hour since he and Julia had parted ways and he was no closer to finding the Winchesters.

Stopping for a red light, he shifted restlessly in his seat, trying to loosen the joints that were becoming stiff. He had no idea how humans could enjoy this method of travel. It was slow and torturous on the body. The angel pressed the accelerator as the light turned green, joining the slow moving traffic, feelings of loss and failure flooding his mind.

A single, inexperienced demon had lain to waste all their work, succeeding where so many others had failed. She had taken out Uriel and whisked the brothers away - right under his nose.

Again, he tried to make a mental connection with his charge - with out the psychic bond, he had no way of finding Sam and Dean, he was as useless as a human. Carefully trailing the vehicles ahead of him, he prayed to God, seeking revelation.

-00-

Sam felt weightless, his bodiless essence floating through the air, untroubled with the obstructions littered through the physical realm. Closing his eyes, he pictured the interior of the car that he and Dean had called home for most of their lives. The only thing in the crazy, messed up world that remained a constant. Releasing a breath, he hadn't realized he was holding Sam opened his eyes, a smile of triumph on his face as he gazed at the familiar surroundings.

Within seconds, he became aware that something was wrong; the Impala was moving he could feel the soothing rumble vibrating through him. Turning to look at the driver he gasped, his eyes growing wide. "Castiel? You're alive!"

-00-

Hearing the cry, Castiel jumped, his head whipping in the direction of the voice, while his hands turned the wheel in the opposite direction - into oncoming traffic. "Samuel?"

Seeing the car headed across the lane, Sam grabbed the wheel, pulling them back out of danger. "Geez, Cas…" Sam panted. "Just pull over will you?"

The angel blew out a puff of air, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. So this was why Dean always got angry with him, the racing heart and burst of fear-induced adrenaline was something he had never felt as an angel in top condition. He now had a newfound sympathy for the elder Winchester.

"Sam?" Castiel questioned, steering the car to the shoulder of the road. "How is it that you are here? And where is Dean?" At this moment, Castiel realized that it was Sam's spirit that sat with him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Sagging in the chains, Dean dropped his chin to his chest, the manacles around his wrist kept him from falling to the dirt floor. Rivulets of blood cascaded down his torso, staining the waistband of his jeans. Alastair had carved into him, just enough to bring pain and blood, but not enough to be fatal. When The Executioner grew tired of cutting him, he had used his fists on the face and body of the chained hunter.

"You are weak," Alastair groused. Grabbing the elder Winchester by the hair, he raised Dean's head to look into his eyes. "I must say, I'm very disappointed in this new you, Dean. Not much fun at all." Alastair spat in Dean's face and let go of the man's hair, watching as the once proud hunter's head returned to its former position. Tsking, the Superior demon turned to see how Bethany was doing with Sam.

"Bethany," he called. "I haven't heard a sound over there. What's going on?"

The young demon sat straddling the younger Winchester's legs. Looking up, she shrugged her shoulders. "He's unconscious; I guess the qeres had a stronger affect on him than I thought it would."

Alastair approached them, kicking Sam's ribs with his boot. "Wake him! I want big brother to be able to hear Sammy's screams, before he returns to the racks."

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, Bethany leaned forward, slapping the unconscious man's face. "Rise and shine!" she sang out. When she got no response, she looked up at The Executioner with a weak smile. "I don't think he's going to wake up anytime soon."

Scowling angrily, Alastair pulled her off the motionless man and stood her beside him. He grasped Sam's ankle firmly and dragged the body across the earthen floor. "If Dean can't hear his brother's pain, then he'll just have to watch as you finish him off." Stopping in front of Dean, Alastair released the foot of the inert man.

Bethany quickly gathered her tools and followed the head demon. _C'mon Sam… Hurry! _She whispered silently.

"Dean, we have a little show for you," Alastair gloated, raising the elder hunter's head by his hair.

Dean's gaze automatically went to Alastair's face before shifting to the floor. "Sammy?" he groaned.

Alastair chuckled darkly. "I thought you might like to say your goodbyes." The head demon paused and looked at his former pupil. "Or maybe that's not necessary, maybe Sammy will be there to greet you when you enter the gates of hell."

"You get away from him you spineless bastard." Dean roared, the suggestion of Sam's imminent death spurring him into action, pumping adrenaline into his veins. "Try beating on someone that can fight back! Unchain me, unless you're too scared." Dean glared at Alastair challengingly. "You're not a coward are you, Al?"

Pacing, Alastair pondered Dean's request and smiled. "I think I would enjoy that very much, Dean." He spoke in soft, silky tones. "I think you should find out who the better man is. And it sure as hell isn't you."

Bethany closed her eyes in relief. She was certain she would be forced to severe Sam's ties to his body forever, but Dean had unwittingly bought his brother some time.

Hopefully Sam would use it wisely.

-00-

"We really don't have time to get into this right now. Alastair has Dean." Sam answered as he searched the seat for the demon-killing blade. He looked up at the angel and shook his head. "I can't believe you're alive."

Resuming his search, Sam opened the passenger's door and knelt on the gravelled ground, ducking his head to look beneath the seat.

"What is it you are looking for, Samuel?" Castiel asked, his blue eyes staring at the young man in curiosity.

"Dean said he left Ruby's knife in here," Sam grunted, stretching an arm under the seat. "I just don't know where."

Castiel opened his door, assuming the same position as the young Winchester. "I don't see it. Are you certain he left it here?"

Lifting his head, Sam nodded. "Yeah, if he said it's here, it's here." Sam ran his hand along the crevice of the bench seat, smiling when his fingers touch the hard steel of the knife hilt. "Got it!"

Withdrawing his hand, Sam eyed the knife triumphantly before turning his attention on the angel. "Cas? Why're you driving?"

"It would appear the qeres has damaged my abilities." the angel replied lowering his gaze. "I've been trying to find you and Dean."

"Shit," the young hunter growled. Coming upon the angel had seemed like a stroke of luck. He had assumed that he and Castiel would return together and the angel would make quick work of the demons. Now he needed a new plan.

Holding the knife in his right hand, Sam leaned across the seat, grabbing Castiel's shoulder with his left. "Well, she said I can bring the physical back," he sighed. "Here goes nothing." Praying that he would be able to do what he had in mind, Sam closed his eyes, thinking of the room and his corporeal body.

Castiel glanced at the hand on his shoulder in disdain. "Sam? What are you doing?"

-00-

Alastair's fist drove into Dean's stomach, knocking the air from his lungs in an audible whoosh. Staggering, the hunter swung weakly at the demon, missed his mark and fell to the floor. Blood ran from the fresh cut on his forehead to trail down his face, dripping into his eyes, and blurring his vision. Drawing a deep breath, Dean pushed himself to his knees, wiping the blood and sweat from his eyes.

"Are you giving up already Dean?" Alastair chortled, dropping his hands to his sides. "That's all you have? You're pathetic, it's no wonder Sam feels he has to tap into his dark side, you're useless, worthless. If he was to follow your demands you'd both be dead in minutes."

Panting heavily, Dean forced himself to stand and stare his adversary in the eyes. "Go to hell," rasped between gulps of air.

"Make me!" Alastair stood with his arms spread challengingly. "You can't, can you? You're disgusting. Maybe I chose the wrong brother to succeed me." The demon looked over to the motionless body of the younger Winchester. "It seems Sam is stronger, darker…"

Dean threw himself bodily at his former teacher, knocking them both to the ground. Sitting astride the demon, the young hunter rained blow after blow on the hated features of his nemesis. "You. Stay. The. Hell. Away. From. Sam." He accentuated each word with his fists, slamming into the being's face, until he felt numb. Dropping his hands, he glared at the bloody mass of flesh and swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat.

"That's my boy," Alastair taunted the young hunter. "I knew the true you was still in there somewhere, buried under this snivelling weakling you've become." Bucking Dean from him, Alastair rolled to his side and got quickly to his feet.

Dean found himself on his side on the floor. Panting heavily, he shifted to his hands and knees, glaring at the dark being before him. "I'm not your boy!" he spat angrily, pushing himself up to a standing position. He swayed slightly and took a step toward the demon. "I promise, I will end you."

"Please, try." Alastair cackled, the eyes of his meat suit shining in amusement. "There's nothing I want more than to see you revive your thirst for blood."

Growling, Dean charged the being, driving his fist into The Executioner's face. "Never again!" He cried out in anguish, remembering the souls he tore apart and the extreme pleasure he took in their pleas for mercy and compassion.

As Dean's fist connected with his face, Alastair gripped his wrist, twisting it painfully. "Dean - Dean - Dean." The demon wiped a hand over his face, smearing the blood rather than removing it. "Just look at what you can do with only your fists. Imagine if you had a weapon." All humour left the entity as he gazed into the eyes of the hunter. He gripped Dean's shoulder with his blood-covered hand and drove his knee into to the elder Winchester's groin.

Grunting at the impact Dean fell to his knees, one hand cupping his injured area while the other was still held in Alastair's vice-like grip. "Son of a bitch!" he gasped, his eyes squeezed tightly as the pain burned through to his abdomen.

Releasing Dean with a forceful shove, Alastair watched the man fall to his side, and shook his head in disgust. "You're pathetic." The demon turned away from the hunter and stalked to the knife he had thrown aside when he had unfastened the manacles that had held Dean securely to the wall. Picking up the weapon, he approached the injured man with a wide, malicious grin on his face.

Dean stayed on his side, his hooded eyes watching the demon advance on him. As Alastair leaned down, Dean drew a steadying breath and brought his head up in a forceful head butt to the demon. He raised a hand to his forehead, hissing at the self-inflected headache. "Damn!"

The demon was taken by surprise and stumbled back several paces, an expression of shocked anger marring his face. "You will pay for that, Winchester," he growled viciously. Shaking his head Alastair grabbed the young hunter roughly by the throat, forcing him to his feet.

Gasping, Dean struggled to free himself from the demon's hold. He felt himself being slammed against the rock wall, and the air was knocked from his lungs. The young hunter clawed at the rigid hand that clutched him and his gaze strayed to Alastair's face before falling to the knife in the demon's other fist.

Alastair pressed the knife against Dean's stomach, the sharp edge of the blade pointing upwards, ready to gut his former student like a fish. His eyes shifted to a milky white in his ire. "Time to return you to the pit."

-00-

As soon as he returned to his body, Sam felt pain, an all-consuming inferno in every nerve and muscle in his body. A scream of agony tore from his throat even before he opened his eyes, his veins felt like they were on fire. Swallowing back another cry, Sam opened his eyes and looked around him.

Alastair had his brother pinned to the wall, a dagger pressed against his abdomen. Dean's face was bruised and bloodied, and he looked as if he was barely hanging on to consciousness.

"Dean!" Sam called out, his voice a raspy whisper. Clearing his throat, he turned his head to survey the room, looking for Castiel. The sting of failure hit him hard when he not only couldn't find the angel, but the demon blade was nowhere in sight either.

"Sam!" Dean called out, trying to see his sibling around the demon that held him firm. "Sammy." The sound of his brother's screams slammed into Dean almost physically and he struggled desperately against Alastair.

"Looks like little brother came to in time to watch you die - again." Alastair chortled, pressing the knife harder against the hunter's neck, watching as beads of blood rose to the surface of the man's flesh.

-00-

Castiel stood in the shadows, confusion clouding his mind. How was Sam able to bring him here? What powers had the youngest Winchester tapped into? He pulled himself from his thoughts when he heard Sam's rasping cry for his brother and Dean's near panic response.

The angel scanned the scene before him, taking in the lay of the area and the two demons that hovered over the Winchesters. He could feel the hard steel of Ruby's knife in his hand and said a silent prayer to his Father before stepping into the dim light.

Keeping an eye on the female, he advanced on the higher-level demon that was threatening Dean. Castiel didn't have the stealthy speed that his celestial powers would have provided and had to concentrate on each step, keeping each movement silent and precise. Slipping up behind Alastair, Castiel brought the knife back, preparing to stab the demon.

Alastair spun around, his arm blocking the angel's attack. "Nice try," he sneered. Taking the weapon from Castiel's hand, Alastair forced the angel to the rock wall.

When Alastair turned to stop Castiel's attack, he relinquished his hold on the elder Winchester. Dean fell unceremoniously to the dirt surface with a pain-filled grunt. "Sam," he whispered as he got to his feet and staggered to where his brother lay.

"Cas?" Dean looked over at the angel. "What are you waiting for, get us out of here."

Castiel glanced at Dean regretfully. "I cannot." he answered quietly.

"Don't give me that crap. You're an angel. Use your mojo," Dean yelled, his hand resting firmly on Sam's shoulder.

"I cannot use my… mojo." Castiel replied.

Dean stared at the angel in confused alarm. "What? Why not?"

Sam covered Dean's hand with his own, drawing his sibling's gaze to him. "The qeres, Dean. It jammed up his powers or something." He watched helplessly as Alastair held the angel against the wall.

Bethany stood still, unable to move. She had been so sure that she had killed the angel, yet here he stood. He was much stronger than she had given him credit for.

"Beth?" Sam called, wincing with every breath. "You have to help him. You have to help Castiel."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"Why the hell would I want to do that?" Bethany demanded haughtily. "What has God or His angels ever done for me?"

"Bethany, I know you want to help us, you already have. You have to help Cas." Sam spoke roughly through clenched teeth as he rode another wave of agony.

"Save your breath, Sammy," Dean muttered, looking at the young demon in disdain. "She won't help, she has no soul."

"I took pity on your brother, but that could change if you don't watch it, Winchester," Bethany retorted.

"Took pity on him?" Dean asked incredulously. "Look at him! You carved into him, burnt his feet and God knows what else. If that was taking pity on him then I'd hate to see an all out torture."

"Beth," Sam rasped, trying to push himself into a sitting position." Save him, please. We owe him, he pulled Dean from hell."

"That's the thing." Bethany looked down on the injured Winchesters. "He took Dean away from me. Left me behind. Left me to endure the anger and frustration of The Executioner." She crouched down to stare into Sam's hazel orbs.

"Why? Tell me, what is so great about Dean Winchester that he was given a second chance? Why him and not me? Why did God look the other way when I was pulled into the pit, yet sent His warriors to collect Dean? Can you answer that? Can you tell me why Dean is so much better than me? Why he deserves to be free and I don't?" She gazes at him almost sadly. "Why does God love him and not me?"

Sam stared at her in disbelief, searching his mind for an answer that would ease the obvious hurt. A demon is upset because God doesn't love her? Drawing a breath he shook his head. "I don't know why Dean was rescued. I don't know any of the answers to your questions. But maybe if you help Cas, he could explain."

"No!" Bethany snapped. "He'll just have to ask God for help."

Holding the knife in his hand, Alastair glowered at the angel. "You have interfered for the last time." The commanding demon laid his hand on Castiel's forehead, foreign words falling from his lips as he recited the ritual to return the angel to heaven.

Castiel struggled in the demon's grip, a look of fear burning brightly in his eyes. He was powerless to stop him. As the words began to surround him, invoking his spirit to leave the vessel, the angel's hands dropped limply to his side. He could feel his true form rising to the surface of the flesh. "Don't look!" he called to the Winchesters, his voice gruff with warning and defeat. Every orifice of his chosen body filled with a bright light.

Hearing the warning cry, Dean's head snapped up and he stared in horror as Castiel's face lit up, illuminating the dank cavern. "Cas! No!"

The elder hunter struggled to his feet, barely taking time to regain his equilibrium before charging his former mentor. Catching Alastair around the waist, he drove the demon to the earthen floor, landing on top of him with a dull thud. As he tried to disentangle his limbs from those of the vile being Dean suddenly cried out in pain.

Alastair hadn't expected the attack, he had fully believed that Dean was too weak to elicit such force. Hitting the ground , the demon grunted as the air was knocked from his meat suit. Angered, he gripped the handle of the knife tightly, driving the blade into the shoulder of the elder Winchester, burying it to the hilt in the hunter's flesh.

Once Alastair was torn away, Castiel slowly slid down the wall, the illuminating glow receding as his essence returned to the core of his vessel. Confused, the angel looked around him, trying to understand how it was that he was still within his chosen receptacle. His troubled gaze landed on his young charge and the knife handle that protruded from Dean's shoulder.

"DEAN!" Sam cried out as his sibling drove Alastair to the ground. Fighting to get up, he released a strangled cry as a fresh wave of burning agony shot through him. Frustrated, he fell back to the floor, unable to move further as his body was assaulted from the inside by the unseen force of the queres.

The younger Winchester turned beseeching eyes to the young demon standing nearby. "Beth, please," he begged hoarsely. "Do something." His vision blurred, greying around the edges and the young hunter struggled to remain conscious as he looked on at the commotion. Unable to rush to his brother's aide, Sam felt useless - worthless. "Beth?"

Despite his own pain and disorientation, Castiel got to his feet and stumbled towards the elder hunter. Wading into the fray, the angel grabbed the hilt that distended from Dean's body and saying a silent apology to the young man, he wrenched it free. Once he had the demon-killing blade in his hand, Castiel hefted the weight, finding just the right position for his hand as he advanced on his downed adversary.

Tears blurred Dean's vision when the knife cut through him. He could feel as well as hear the muscle and tendons give way beneath the force of the blow. Gasping, the elder hunter slumped forward as the dizziness overtook him. Much to his dismay, he landed fully onto the demon.

Biting back a cry of pain, Dean struggled to push away from the being beneath him as a burning sensation tore through his shoulder, leaving his fingers numb and tingling. When the knife was pulled unceremoniously from him. He whipped his head around to face his assailant, his green eyes growing wide in surprise when he found Castiel standing behind him holding the dagger.

"Damn, Cas," Dean ground out, as he searched the familiar features. Seeing the murderous intent in the angel's dark glare, the hunter threw himself to the side and away from the demon, no longer concerned with getting to his feet, just the desperate need to get the hell out of Castiel's way.

As soon as Dean rolled aside, the angel fell on his prey, thrusting the blade deep into the breastbone of the body housing the demon.

A howl tore from Alastair's throat as the knife bit into his flesh. It wasn't a fatal blow, but with an angel at the other end of the weapon, it was painful. Gasping, the dark entity bucked, trying to throw the celestial being off him. Castiel remained unmoved as he tore the dagger from his enemy and raised it to strike again.

"That won't kill me," Alastair snapped, twisting beneath the ethereal being.

"Maybe not," Castiel replied, his eyes dark in his righteous anger. "But it will weaken you." Bringing his arm down, the holy entity plunged the knife into the abdomen of the dark entity, pressing his other hand to Alastair's forehead. Words in the sacred tongue burst from his lips as Castiel sought to smite the demon, removing him forever from this plain of existence.

With a grunt of anger, Alastair tried to rise, only to fall back as the verse weakened him. Not one to give up easily, The Executioner pulled the knife from his stomach and drove it into the thigh of the vessel the angel hid within. The action caused just a millisecond of distraction, but it was all Alastair needed to vacate his trapped meat suit, bursting from the paediatrician in a rush of black smoke. The demon's dark essence danced along the rock ceiling momentarily before seeping into the crack and crevices.

"Guess we showed him," Dean deadpanned, sitting against the cavern wall, one hand covering his bleeding wound.

When Dean had attacked Alastair, Bethany had jumped to her feet, watching in trepidation as the superior being fought back. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the cry that threatened to spill from her lips as her commander drove the knife into the elder Winchester.

She could hear Sam's pleas to help, but there was nothing she could do. Alastair was above her pay grade, she didn't have a chance if she took him on, none of them would. Bethany stared wide eyed when Castiel dove into the battle saving Dean from The Executioner, causing Alastair to flee his meat suit.

Fear struck her to the core when the angel rose to his feet and turned his righteous glare on her. Bethany stepped backwards only to meet an obstacle. By the time she remembered that Sam was on the floor behind her, she had already stumbled and fallen across the younger hunter's legs.

A look of surprise flashed over her features, quickly changing to terror when she looked up into the intense blue eyes of the Winchesters' guardian angel. Swallowing back her fear, she tried to scramble backwards, her gaze falling on the knife Castiel held tightly in his fist.

Ruby's knife.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Pushing himself from the damp surface with his uninjured arm, Dean leaned heavily against the wall as a wave of vertigo stole over him. He took a steadying breath and slowly moved away from the wall towards his brother, keeping an attentive eye on the demon and angel.

"Sam?" he rasped, sinking to his knees, wincing as the movement sent a bolt of pain through his battered body. When this was over he was in some serious need of some long overdue R&R.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, relief evident in his voice. "What the hell were you trying to do? You want to die?" Seeing the older man was beaten and bruised but otherwise not seriously injured, the younger Winchester felt the ire building within him.

"Aww, c'mon, dude," Dean chuckled. "Not everyday a guy gets to save an angel's ass."

Rolling his eyes, Sam snorted, "Always have to be the hero. In case you haven't noticed, there aren't any girls here for you to impress."

Flinching as he tried to move his position to better see his brother and the battle mere inches from where he lay, the younger hunter held out his hand. "Help me up."

Dean shook his head in mild irritation, grabbed Sam's hand with his less injured one and slowly pulled him up, letting his brother lean against his chest for support. Once Sam was no longer looking up at everything, which had seemed to give the whole scene a surreal feel, his gaze fell on the entities.

"We can't let him kill her," Sam spoke suddenly. Bethany had helped them. Granted it was her fault that they were in this situation in the first place, but when it came down to it, she helped.

"What the hell are you going on about?" Dean snapped. "She's a demon."

Dean looked up, his scrutinizing gaze landing on the demon, the woman he once knew better than he even knew his own brother. "It has to be this way," he murmured softly, swallowing past the lump that had formed in his throat.

Still crab-crawling away from the angel, Bethany watched as he advanced on her, the knife poised to strike. "No," she moaned, throwing her hands up in front of her face - turning her head away from the figure above her. She caught sight of the cave opening from the corner of her eye and a plan began to take form.

With a cry of desperation, Bethany swept her leg across the floor, her foot catching the celestial being's and knocking him off balance. When the angel hit the hard packed dirt surface, the demon scrambled to her feet, running out into the darkened passage.

Although she had asked Sam to kill her once things were over, the intense murderous glare in Castiel's eyes had terrified her, automatically kicking in the need for self preservation. Leaning against the damp rock wall, Bethany scanned the dark passage, frantically plotting her escape route.

Castiel got to his feet almost as soon as his bottom hit the floor, his face set in grim determination as he watched the demon rush from the dank room. Gripping the demon-killing knife in his fist, the angel started towards the exit and the creature hidden in the depths of the darkness.

"Cas! Wait!" Dean called out, his heart pounding hard against his chest. Carefully, the elder Winchester removed himself from behind his brother, checking only to be certain the younger man could hold himself erect as he avoided the penetrating hazel gaze.

Standing, Dean bit back a soft hiss as a new wave of pain seared through his joints and lacerated shoulder.

"I got this." He held his hand out for the weapon, his green-eyed gaze meeting the holy being's questioning look. "She won't hurt me."

"Dean!" Sam barked, demanding the elder man's attention. He had to talk some sense into his brother, he obviously wasn't thinking clearly. "You don't know that. Look at what she's already done."

Dean spun around, his angry glare landing accusingly on Sam. "You're the one who didn't want to kill her. Yet you think she's dangerous? I honestly don't know what's goin' on in that head of yours."

"Dean…Just listen," Sam started, trying to keep his voice calm. The wrong word or tone would only send his sibling off into a wild tangent.

"No, you listen, Sam," Dean snapped cutting off the younger man. "She hasn't done anything to hurt me. You and Cas, she pulled out all the stops - short of killing you. Hell, she thought she _had_ killed Cas."

"She chained you to a damned wall," Sam shot back in exasperation. "Or did you conveniently forget that?"

"She chained me, that's it," Dean conceded, locking his glare on his brother's. "I think she was trying to keep me from you."

"Yeah?" Sam pressed. "How can you be sure she wasn't planning on doing a lot more once she was done with me? Hell, she could be lying in wait for you out there. And look at you! Alastair beat the holy hell out of you. You're in no shape to go chasing after anything, let alone a demon."

"I'm doing this." Dean scowled as he turned away from the younger man, snatching the dagger from a silent Castiel's hand. "Stay with Sam," he ordered before stalking from the room.

Entering the inky blackness of the passageways, the elder Winchester squinted as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the almost complete lack of light. He clutched the weapon tightly as memories surfaced - memories that he would rather not recall at this point in time.

Images of Bethany as she was then burst into his mind. Her gentle easy smile, the way her amber eyes sparkled mischievously. He could almost feel the silky, strawberry-blonde curls in his fingers. Shaking his head as if the motion would disperse the visions, Dean scanned the passage, listening intently for any tell-tale signs of the demon.

That's what she was now, a demon. Nothing more, and she had to be dealt with accordingly.

Hearing the stilted shuffle, Bethany pressed herself tighter to the wall, shifting her gaze in the direction of the sound. If it was the angel, she was certain he would find her quickly, unless the qeres had had a lasting effect on the celestial guardian.

Her thoughts went to Castiel's sudden appearance; it had almost seemed as if Sam had brought the angel back with him. But why would he have relied on Sam? And, during the fight with Alastair, there were no signs of Heavenly powers from him. Maybe the angel was nothing more than a glorified human now, and if that was true then she was stronger than him.

Much stronger.

Swallowing past her fear, the young demon focused on the presence hiding in the shadows. The feel of the other was familiar, eliciting a dull ache from deep within her.

"Dean?" Bethany spoke softly, pushing away from the hard surface behind her. She searched the darkness for the face that haunted her every thought, longing to see the crooked smile of the man she had spent so many years with.

Dean stood unmoving, his questing gaze touching on every opaque corner as he listened intently for any sounds that would give away the malevolent being's location. The soft voice took him by surprise, causing the hunter to whirl around to confront his adversary. He was barely able to make out the moving shadow in the lightless cavern.

"Beth," he replied, dismayed at the huskiness in his response.

Bethany could see Dean quite well as the dim light from the room behind spilt into the passage, casting an almost ethereal glow around him. Drawing closer to her former lover, she caught the stench of demon blood - Alastair's blood, and she knew Dean held the demon-killing blade. Tears sprang to her eyes as the full realization came to her. "You've come to kill me then?"

"I have to," Dean choked out, becoming frustrated with his own emotional turmoil. "I'm sorry, Beth. I really am." The hunter approached the girl, the knife poised to strike.

"No. You're not." Bethany retorted, her words dull and flat to her own ears. "That's something you have in common with the man I once loved. No remorse, no regrets."

Castiel knelt beside the younger hunter, quickly scanning Sam's injuries. There was no way the man would be able to walk on his own, let alone assist his brother. Sighing, the ancient being looked towards the cave exit, praying that Dean would succeed.

"What the hell, Cas?" Sam spat angrily. "Get out there and help him!"

The angel shifted his sorrowful blue gaze to the young man. "Dean needs to do this on his own."

"What? NO!" Sam struggled to get to his feet, only to cry out when his tender soles touched the floor. Sagging back to the dirt surface, he regarded the supernatural individual in aggravation. "Help him, God damn you."

Castiel's gaze darkened as he studied the face of the injured man. "We have to allow Dean to close the door on his past. It may be the only way for him to find the strength to do what he has to in the future."

"Are you saying he needs closure?" Sam asked looking at the angel incredulously. "That may be so, but he isn't strong enough. He can't do it alone, not her."

"Sam," Castiel spoke quietly. "Do you trust your brother?"

"Of course I do. What kind of question is that?" the younger Winchester sputtered, indignant that the angel would even ask.

"Then believe that he will make the right choice. Let him fight his demons." Standing, Castiel surveyed the room, trying to get an idea of what had occurred before his arrival. Sam had obviously been tortured, and from the words the brothers had shared earlier, he was certain that it was at the girl's hand. They had also spoke of Dean being chained. What else had happened when he had been unable to get to them?

"What if he can't?" Sam inquired dejectedly, interrupting the angel's thoughts. "What if she kills him? Did you think of that?"

Castiel straightened his shoulders as he heard the young man voice his own concerns. "We must have faith that he will not fail."

"Faith!" Sam roared, unable to contain his anger any longer. "A lot of good faith will do if he's out there bleeding to death as we speak."

The messenger of God lowered his head and remained silent.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Dean brought the dagger up, his arm set to bring the blade down into her throat, when Bethany sidestepped the attack with a disapproving tsk. Moving closer to him, she wrapped her small hand around his wrist, gently pushing the knife aside.

"It's dark here," she murmured in his ear. "I want to see you before you…" She let the sentence fall incomplete as she looked at him pleadingly. Dean would kill her, she had no doubt of that now and in a way it was fitting that he'd be the one to end her unnatural existence.

"Not much I can do about that, unless you want to go back in." The hunter motioned to the dim shaft of light that showed the entry way behind them. He pulled free from her grasp, a faint sneer on his lips.

"No. There's another room where we won't be interrupted." Bethany spoke hesitantly as she dropped her hand to her side, feeling his rejection as if he had physically slapped her.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean contemplated her offer for a few seconds before finally nodding. "Okay. But if you try anything." He snorted, it was kind of pointless to threaten the life of someone - scratch that - something you were going to kill anyway.

"I mean it, Beth. No tricks," he growled, lowering the weapon. He was confused and surprised by his willingness to accompany her to a room farther away from his brother and the angel. There had to be something wrong with him. His mind screamed at him to just kill the bitch and be done with it, yet he didn't. Instead the hunter was agreeing with her plans, following her to God knew where.

Yes, something was seriously wrong with him. Maybe Sam had the demon blood which was forced on him at a tender age, but Dean was starting to wonder who had the demon heart.

Sensing the man's self doubt, Bethany let her lips curve into a smile. Her Dean was still in there. Maybe - if she played her cards right - she could reach him. She slid her hand into his empty one, not looking at the hated knife in his other hand. "Come on then," she urged with a gentle tug.

Flinching at her touch more so than from the brief protest of his injured shoulder, Dean almost pulled away; but figuring it was better to keep her close, he allowed their hands to remain entwined. "This had better not be some ruse to try to save yourself."

They moved through the passageways silently, each too lost in their own thoughts to attempt small talk.

---

"He's been gone a long time," Sam pointed out. Castiel had moved him so he could sit with his back propped against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "If you aren't going after him, I am."

Since Dean had left the small room, Sam had railed at the angel, trying to get him to follow Dean and the demon he was hunting, all the while being assaulted by waves of excruciating pain. Each bout seemed to be further apart and lasting shorter periods. It had been several minutes since the last attack and the young hunter felt he was capable of getting to his feet without retching.

Standing near the entry, the angel listened for any sounds that would alert him to his charge being in danger. From the time he took his post ten minutes earlier he hadn't heard anything, not so much as the scuff of a boot on the hard packed dirt. The silence was disconcerting.

Not getting a reaction from the ethereal being, Sam seethed. "Damn it Cas I mean it! You have to…"

"We will wait," Castiel cut him off mid-rant. "He is stronger than you give him credit for." He had already decided that he would only wait a few more minutes then go after Dean. Castiel knew the green-eyed hunter was headstrong and would take any attempt of a rescue from himself or Sam as an affront to his abilities and state of mind.

"The hell I will," the younger Winchester grunted, pushing himself to stand. As soon as his feet took his weight, several blisters burst, sending white hot pain through his lower extremities. Sam bit down on his lip, trapping the cry of agony inside.

Moving quickly from his station, Castiel was at Sam's side in seconds. He couldn't allow the younger man to injure himself further; it would only incite Dean's anger and distrust. Another battle of wills with the elder Winchester was not something the celestial being was looking forward to.

"Samuel," Castiel admonished as he slipped an arm around the waist of the taller man, seeking to take some of the burden off Sam's injured feet. "You are not capable of walking."

"Screw you!" Sam shouted, pushing the angel's arm away forcefully. "I walked here to find Dean and I'll damn well walk out there to find him again. With or without you."

Dean said she will not harm him," Castiel reminded the young man, looking him over in concern. Sam's skin had felt cold to the touch and Castiel realized that the boy was very underdressed for the environment. The human body could withstand a lot, but the combination of the torture, qeres and cool temperatures were obviously taking their toll on the younger Winchester. Shrugging out of his trench coat, he draped it over the hunter's shoulders.

Scowling at the angel's belated attempt at humanity, Sam slipped his arms into the coat before he spoke. "Are you sure of that, Castiel? Are you sure she wouldn't turn on him at the first opportunity? She's a demon."

----

_The stench clogged his senses, a mixture of sulphur, fermenting blood and decaying flesh. Flames leapt from various areas throughout the room, throwing huge cavorting shadows on the rocks behind him. Turning, he scanned the area, his sword held tightly in his hand. A change in the air caused him to pull back and he flinched as the spiked ball of a flail whipped past his him, embedding itself in the stone where his head had been seconds before._

_Rotating the sword expertly, the angel brought it up ready for the next attack as his gaze fixed on the demon before him. The creature towered over him by at least two feet, his obsidian eyes reflecting the dancing flames as he looked down at his prey. A sneer formed on the dark being's face; the motion causing pustule pockets to burst open, seeping foul smelling fluid onto the craggy features. The stench of death and desolation rolled off him in waves. Releasing a guttural howl, the demon-guardian of the gates pulled the ball from the wall allowing the daunting weapon to swing from its rod as he grinned challengingly at the angel._

_As the beast drew closer, Castiel forced himself not to retch and swung his sword in a wide arc, slashing effortlessly through the vile-smelling being. The angel stepped back as his foe fell to the uneven surface, its life fluids spilling onto the floor in a murky rush. Careful to keep his sandaled feet from the filth, he moved away from the fallen enemy to search for his comrades._

_As he scanned the area around him, his gaze landed on the pitiful beings immersed in the thick mire of a bubbling black ooze. Worms fed on the flesh of the hapless souls as snakes swam along the surface, circling them hungrily._

_Castiel regarded the pit of Desolation in disgust as he weaved past hell's prisoners. He had lost track of how long they had been here fighting through the ranks of demons but still not reaching their destination. For each victory and advance there was retaliation and lost ground. _

_Sounds of clashing metal and cries of the fallen reverberated off the walls, filling him with apprehension. Turning in the direction he had just come from, God's soldier felt his heart lurch as he watched one of his brothers fall under the onslaught. The demons were numerous, confident and sure of their weapons as they circled the members of the garrison that had entered last. Castiel shifted his gaze swiftly when he heard a familiar cry, bringing his sword up in a defensive stance._

"_Phaleg!" he called rushing to his brother's aid._

_Phaleg was on his knees in the rancid refuse of the battle, his weapon nowhere to be seen. The demon looming above the downed angel grinned maliciously as he raised his scythe sword to strike. Pushing through the melee, Castiel blocked the attack, nearly being driven to his own knees by the force of the blow._

"_Phaleg, get your sword and go," Castiel ordered, his intense glare never leaving his adversary. He could feel the hot breath from every direction and the angel quickly looked around to find he was surrounded. _

_Tightening his grip on his sword, he squared his shoulders. "Father, give me strength," he prayed as he raised his weapon. With swift movements he sliced through the putrid mass to his right, barely acknowledging the demon's fall before turning to the others. For each beast of hell he slayed another was waiting to take its place._

_He heard a grunt of pain from behind and shot a glance over his shoulder to see the demon that had crept up behind him fall to the ground as Uriel thrust his sword deeper into the being. He nodded to his brother before turning to confront the creatures as Uriel moved to stand behind him. Back to back, the angels eyed their prey. _

"_Phaleg?" Castiel asked of the brother he had rescued._

"_He is with Af and Kezef," Uriel replied briskly. Raising his sword, he levelled his menacing glare at the demons. "You want to play, you diseased spawn? Let's play."_

_Everything exploded at once. Castiel wasn't even sure who had landed the first blow but he soon found himself in hand to hand combat as his weapon was torn from his grip. The dark beings came at him, their grey teeth gnashing at the air around his neck and face and from the sounds at his back, he knew Uriel was faring no better. _

"_Need some assistance, brothers?" Zophiel's voice broke through the battle cries, sounding almost jovial. The great archangel swung his sword from side to side, his sapphire eyes twinkling as he mowed through the multitudes of demons around his companions. Coming to a stop at his brother's side, Zophiel looked at them, a smile spreading across his face. "Just like the old days, is it not, Uriel?"_

_Castiel was both awed and repulsed that battle and death always brought out the best in Zophiel. He was a true warrior, living for the fight. It was obviously that very reason Michael favoured him to fight at his side._

_Snorting, Uriel raised his sword, driving it through yet another of the monstrosities. "Is there ever an end to these stains?"_

"_Take heart, dear brother. Soon our mission will be complete and we can leave this blasphemous slime pit." Zophiel lunged forward as another demon made to attack, thrusting his sword through its midsection…_

_The trio of angels all turned their heads as a cry rang out, despair on their faces as they watched their brother go down._

"_Phaleg," Castiel uttered. The sound of his falling sibling urged him on and with renewed energy he fought his way through the fray trying to get to Phaleg. He could already see that the light was fading from Phaleg's eyes as he reached him. "Rest now." Castiel grasped the dying angel's arm, vowing to avenge his death._

"_Castiel," Phaleg spoke weakly, clutching the proffered limb. "My charge, he is obtuse - a doubter. He is now yours."_

"_Phaleg, I am a warrior not a guardian," Castiel countered, not wanting this obstinate human to become his burden._

"_Castiel just go!" Zophiel commanded over the din. _

_Straightening, Castiel cast one last sorrowful glance at his friend then he let his anger guide him through the throngs of demons, slashing anything that got in the way._

_As he neared the center of the pit, he slowed his pace, staying close to the walls and in the shadows, hoping not to be seen. His target would still have light in his soul, that was how he would find him. It was imperative Dean Winchester be rescued from the bowels of hell; he only hoped the man was worth the death of his brothers. Turning a corner he could see a dim light in the distance and he approached cautiously._

_Castiel saw the woman first, hovering over the prone soul almost possessively, and he hefted his sword, ready for the fight. _

_She raised her head, gentle amber eyes widening. "Who the fuck are you?" she demanded reaching for a dagger on the stand._

"_I am Castiel. I am an angel…" Before he completed the sentence he felt the blade pierce him. Looking down, he found she had thrown the knife with tremendous accuracy and it was now protruding from his abdomen. The angel wrapped his hand around the handle, pulling out the offending weapon and dropping it to the floor._

_Annoyed by yet another obstacle in his mission, he advanced on the being, pausing momentarily as he got a better view of her. She stood with her back to the table, obviously trying to protect the being sleeping behind her. But what caught his interest was her essence. Although it didn't glow, it wasn't the black of the demons. Castiel realized that she was on her way to becoming the demon she was meant to be yet seemed to be holding onto some shred of her humanity._

"_I have come for Dean Winchester, to return him to his life." He said firmly, hoping she would simply allow him to take the man._

"_You can't have him!" she growled, eyeing the angel warily. "He belongs with me." Laughter echoed off the walls outside the small room and her gaze shifted to the entryway as Zophiel and Af came into view. _

"_Ahh, another little demon bitch to add to the fire," Zophiel chortled as he approached her. "Castiel, get Dean Winchester and leave." He grinned malevolently at the girl as he drew his sword._

_Seeing the angel start towards Dean, Bethany screamed in rage, charging the intruder only to be brought to a halt when Zophiel caught her around the midsection and lifted her from the floor._

"_No!" She cried struggling in the archangel's iron grip. "He's mine, you can't have him! He's mine!"_

"_Be silent, you soulless creature," Zophiel seethed. "Stand down and be quiet and I'll let you live."_

_Bethany stopped moving as she looked into the eyes of the fearsome being. "Screw you!" she spat, raising her head to scream a loud warning to her lover. _

_Dean jolted awake, sitting up quickly as he took in the situation. "What the hell is going on? Get away from her!" _

_Moving quickly, Castiel grabbed the man as he attempted to jump from his position. The angel held tightly as he started up, ignoring the demands to be freed by the struggling being in his grip. Within seconds he heard the flap of wings as the remaining members of his garrison joined him in departing the pit, their mission accomplished._

_Dean Winchester was saved._

_----_

"Castiel," Sam barked, pulling the angel from his thoughts. "I asked you a question. Are you sure she won't hurt Dean?"

"No." Castiel looked at the younger hunter. He was not certain at all; the tiny glimmer of light he had seen while in the pit was no longer there. Her humanity was gone.

--

Bethany led Dean into the cavern where she and Sam had been earlier and walked to the altar to light the candles; gripped momentarily by guilt as she recalled what she had used the candles for. She looked up at him, a deep sadness etched on her features.

"Tell me something, Dean," she murmured softly. "In all those years in the pit, did you ever care about me or was I just some piss poor substitute for Sam? Someone you had to save - protect. Was I just something to give you your self worth?"

Drawing closer to the demon, Dean considered her question. His first instinct was to declare outright that she was indeed nothing more than a distraction while in the pit, but deep down he knew it wasn't true. He had cared for her then, when they were the same people, but now they couldn't be anymore different, he was Dean Winchester, a hunter and she was what he hunted.

"It doesn't matter," Dean snapped. "It wouldn't change what I have to do."

"Maybe it matters to me!" Bethany shot back. "Maybe I need to know that there was at least one time that I was loved." She grasped the stone edge of the altar tightly, her knuckles turning white. With a single glance, she knew he didn't love her, that she meant nothing more to him than the souls he had carved into. Possibly less. The man in front of her wasn't her Dean; this Dean regretted the things he had done. Had condemned himself for the choices he had made.

Bethany moved from the altar, locking her gaze on his as she held her arms open. "Just do it."

Dean steeped back, surprised at the vehemence in her voice and the defeat in her eyes. "I'm sorry. If things were different…"

"You'd still kill me, I get it. I'm a demon and you're not, not anymore." she murmured as she shifted her gaze to his shoulder, noting the blood seeping through the material. "You should tend to that."

The hunter turned his own gaze to the injury. Quickly dismissing it; he returned his attention to his prey. He moved closer to her adjusting his grip on the weapon and swallowing against the lump that had lodged in his throat. It was the first time in all his years of hunting that he knew the destruction of the creature he was after would be relatively easy. Physically anyway.

Dean was suddenly taken aback when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. He was alarmed that she had moved so quickly and that he hadn't seen it coming - he wasn't alert to the situation. Had she planned to kill him, he would have been hitting the floor before it registered that she had attacked. Although his lack of professional awareness bothered him, his reaction only disturbed him further when he responded to her embrace, cupping the back of her head as he returned her kiss with a feeling of desperation.

Breaking off the connection, Dean wiped a shaky hand over his moist eyes as he steeped back. "Beth, I have no choice," he said huskily raising the dagger.

----

They could smell the smoke before they saw the lit entrance to the large room. Entering, Sam scanned the area quickly, his gaze stopping on his brother standing near a blazing fire.

"Dean?" Sam spoke softly, attempting to leave the support of the angel at his side to go to his sibling.

The walk through the passageways proved to be easier and far less painful with Castiel's assistance. The younger hunter didn't know if it was the mere presence of the Celestial being or his strength, regardless, the trip had been faster than expected and Sam appreciated the angel's help. But now, he had to be there for his brother - alone.

When Dean didn't answer or turn to face them, hunter's instincts kicked in and Sam once again surveyed the room in search of the demon. His gaze returned to the elder man and the fire in front of him. Taking in the slump of Dean's shoulders and the way his hands hung limply at his side, Sam felt his chest tighten and a lump formed in his throat. He moved cautiously towards his brother, gritting his teeth in pain with each step. Resting his hand on Dean's shoulder he looked down at the still flaming, charcoaled remains he could only assume was Bethany.

"Dean, come on, we're done here," the younger Winchester urged, pulling his brother away from the ebbing blaze. .

"Yeah." Dean turned to face his brother, haunted green eyes looking at anything but Sam's face as he started for the doorway.

Pausing, he looked back at Sam wearily taking in his appearance. If things were different, it would be almost comical to see his sibling, half naked, barefoot and wearing Castiel's trench coat. Any other time. Dean offered a supporting arm to Sam, waiting as Castiel took his post on the other side of the younger man.

"So," Dean said glibly. "Either of you know how the hell we get out of here?"


End file.
